


Vir.Rabbit.D

by NK (NKfloofiepoof)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bestiality, Crack, Egg Laying, F/M, Fingerfucking, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mech Preg, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgy, Oviposition, Sticky, Tentacles, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Virus, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:19:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 52,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NKfloofiepoof/pseuds/NK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Decepticons are infected with a virus which causes them to go into an endless heat cycle, and the only cure is a good, hard frag. Unfortunately, the virus has locked away their ability to frag themselves, so what's a ship full of desperate mechs to do? Call their enemies for relief, of course.</p><p>Pairings added to the tags as they become relevant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Kink Meme Prompt:** <http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/7561.html?thread=7508873#t7508873>  
> **Long-Suffering Beta:** ladydragon76
> 
> Originally posted anonymously to the kink meme. This was stalled for a good 18 months due to a very complicated combination of RL factors and still isn't finished, but at this point, there's no point in denying it's me anymore, so I might as well post it here and make it easier on myself to post as I write.
> 
> As the OP gave me free rein on 'verse, I'm going to call this a mishmash of ~70% G1 cartoon with some canon tweaks and ~20% continuity salad with bits and pieces from other continuities mashed in as I think works best or that I just want to be self-indulgent and include, primarily in the history/backstory, and ~10% Made Up Shit. They're G1 in appearance (especially in the cassettes' case) with a few Dreamwave colors thrown in (mainly: Trailbreaker, Grimlock, and Bluestreak all have red visors/optics, Mirage's are gold), they're openly fighting on Earth (rather than hiding out/fighting in secret as is the canon norm nowadays), and their main reason for fighting on Earth is the G1 reason of stealing Earth's energy resources to heal Cybertron, not conquering it for the sake of conquering. 
> 
> The _main_ tweaks, at least right off, are that they weren't in stasis nearly as long as they were in the cartoon (a few centuries rather than 4 million years), and the war hasn't gone on quite as long (a few millennia (somewhere between 100-200 vorns) rather than 10+ million years). They still woke up in the '80s and have been active and fighting since.
> 
> Most of this might not even come into play, but this is just so the readers have an idea of where my head was while writing this.
> 
> Units of time used (taken from TFWiki):  
>  _nanoklik - ~1 second_  
>  klik - 1.2 minutes  
> breem - 8.3 minutes  
> cycle - 2 hours  
> orn - 1 day  
> stellar cycle - 1 year  
> vorn - 83 years

Lines of code and rows of numbers scrolled by faster than an organic creature could blink, parsed, catalogued, and archived as quickly as it was downloaded. Folders were scanned and either downloaded or discarded depending on their use, and files which were questionable in nature were downloaded as well for later analysis. Firewalls were breached as quickly as they appeared, no greater a barrier than a scrap of paper, and as soon as the last file was downloaded, the data cable linking the hacker to his quarry was jerked out of the console so he could move to the next computer.

Frenzy flinched at the sound of a muffled explosion and glanced worriedly to the ceiling as it rained white dust on him. Another explosion made the ceiling and the walls shake and more dust drift down, but he forcibly moved his gaze back to the last console. He could imagine well enough what was happening aboveground, and he needed to ignore it and stick to the plan. He blew off his data jack to ensure ceiling dust had not come in contact with the connector pins and slid it into the first access port he found on the last computer to begin downloading once more. His tape whirred noisily in his chest as information, files, folders, and code were downloaded directly onto it. The absorption of information paused only when his tape reached capacity and he had to stop and consciously switch sides. His internals shifted, tabs rotating to swap spools from one side of his chest to the other. It was an archaic form of short-term memory, but it worked well enough for his kind. Normal-sized mechs stored nearly all memory in their sparks due to their size, but cassettes were not so fortunate - long-term was stored in the spark, and short-term on their tape. It was certainly a useful resource for espionage and hacking.

The spool clicked in place, and Frenzy resumed downloading. So far, he had not found the information he was actually _searching_ for, but he had found a great deal of extra tidbits he thought Soundwave and Megatron might find interesting, so thus far, the mission was not a _total_ bust. The Decepticons had known this laboratory was working on several different projects of great interest, ranging from weaponry to collection of energy. The weapons were only of passing relevance - the Decepticons in general only stole or otherwise acquired information or actual weaponry from humans to laugh at how primitive it was later. Every now and then, they were surprised by a human-designed weapon which might have actually proven somewhat dangerous, but that was not at all common.

No, the Decepticons' primary interest was energy and the collection thereof. Earth was a planet absolutely rich with energy sources, most of which were alien in nature to their kind and which they were still understanding how to extract and refine. Humans, having evolved using these power sources, had already solved the first problem - the Decepticons just needed to refine the humans' methods through Cybertronian means. Humans were a very wasteful species - they wasted nearly as much energy as they harvested. The way the Decepticons saw it, they were only doing what was right by taking that particular task out of the humans' hands. Why let that precious energy go to waste when Cybertron needed it much more than Earth?

This particular facility, as Ravage had discovered just two orns past, had recently designed a new solar power extractor which, if the schematics were correct, would be able to collect the sun's highly efficient energy in a much more confined area than the standard solar cells humans used currently. With current solar technology, just powering the _Victory_ would require enough solar cells to completely cover the Decepticon ship, if not more, so the Decepticons had not looked into the sun as a serious energy source. It was a pity since Earth's sun was still very young and still had many vorns of power left in it; however, if Starscream's assessments of the humans' new extractor were accurate, it would be able to collect the exact same amount of energy at a fraction of the wasted space. They _needed_ the schematics in order to test it.

Of course, the Autobots were not having any of it. Regardless of the fact that the solar power extractor would actually be a clean, efficient, and - dare Frenzy admit it - _environmentally sound_ method of collecting energy for their cause, the simple fact that it was for the _Decepticon_ cause and not the Autobots' had the groundling do-gooders spewing smog in indignation. Not that the "environmentally sound" part was of any interest to the Decepticons - it was simply coincidence, and the Autobots knew it. Or maybe they just expected the Decepticons to turn it into a random doomsday device - the Autobots _were_ rather stupid, after all.

Whatever their reason for getting in the way this time, the Decepticons had anticipated it. The plan was to make like they were simply trying to drain the facility's generators in order to draw the Autobots' attention away from the cassettes as they infiltrated the laboratory itself. While Megatron, Soundwave, and the others drew their fire, Ravage, Rumble, and Laserbeak chased out the humans to keep them from informing the Autobots of the truth, and Frenzy hacked the computers.

Frenzy reached up to brush ceiling dust from his shoulder when his system scan found the schematic he wanted. Perking up, he quickly downloaded and double-checked it for authenticity. It certainly _looked_ like the real deal. Ravage's previous recon had only produced a half-finished product, but it had seemed promising, so they waited until the schematic was complete and ready for construction before making their move.

Pleased, Frenzy double-checked his data tape to ensure the write was successful and reached up to unhook himself when the still-running scan highlighted something else. Curious, he opened the folder, and his visor brightened - _this_ was new. In addition to the solar collector, the facility had fully documented the Autobots' method of thermal energy extraction.

It was common knowledge that the Autobots' energy needs were almost completely met by collecting and refining energy given off by the heat of the dormant volcano in which their ship was embedded, but according to this file, the facility had deciphered a way to increase their energy production by threefold. There were several underwater volcanoes not far from the _Victory_ , but understanding thermal energy collection had been a problem for the Decepticons ever since they crashed in the ocean - converting the heat into energy was not the problem; it was the water which surrounded them and the fact that it rapidly cooled the lava when it breached the sea floor. Sure, it stayed hot for a while before cooling and solidifying, but as Starscream had pointed out the last time they discussed using thermal, "If it's gotten cool enough for us to go near it without damage from convection, it's too cool to make decent energon." A few ideas had been tossed around about taking advantage of the cooled lava to drill down to where it was still hot enough to be of use, but further analysis had proven the reward to just barely even out the cost, especially as the Decepticons were ill-equipped to manufacture heat conductors which could survive the temperature of magma in the first place.

With _this_ information, however...not only had the facility documented and improved upon the algorithms and efficiency of the Autobots' collection methods, it even listed the materials needed to create a strong enough, high-efficiency heat conductor _and_ provided the schematic with which to build it. This was even more valuable than the solar collector! Quickly, Frenzy copied the entire folder, and after double-checking that it wrote without error, his hand paused on his data cable. Maybe there was something else of value on this console?

A particularly strong explosion shook the entire room, and he decided that even if there was, it would have to wait for a second attempt - he had already spent too much time here copying the contents of three separate computers. Even as he unplugged and coiled his data cable back into himself, his communicator was rife with chatter, various mechs demanding to know his status.

< _I'm done, I'm done!_ > Frenzy assured them as he rushed back down the corridor from whence he came. He ignored the video cameras - his very first task on the first computer had been to disable them and erase their footage, and his last task before unplugging from each console had been to erase his tracks. Provided his siblings had kept the humans busy as they were tasked, there would be no evidence he had infiltrated the database, and the Decepticons' ruse of targeting the generators would still stand.

—

"Yo, Rewind - question."

"Answer." Rewind glanced up from the pile of dust and chunks of ceiling he was helping sweep. More frustrating and inconvenient than the loss of energy and resources when the Decepticons attacked laboratories and power plants was the terrible _mess_ they always made. The Autobots at least stayed to help with the clean-up when possible, but even they could only do so much. Rewind and his brothers were the only Autobots small enough to help with the indoor cleaning. There was always a collapsed ceiling, a door knocked off its hinges, a crumbled stairwell, a broken pipe, or any other damage caused by the chaos. Their schedules and other obligations to the Autobots usually did not permit the cassettes to help with clean-up for long, so they were always the first inside after the battle ended to get started immediately. Their quick entry had the added benefit of ensuring the building was free of Decepticon stragglers as well as gave them time to work alone without the humans hovering around them and potentially getting in the way. Rewind had lost count of how many times Ramhorn had charged down a hallway to gather all of the large debris into one end only to have to skid to a desperate stop because a human had decided the cassettes needed "help".

Currently, he and his brothers were trying to do as much as they could before they had to rush back to the _Ark_ to give their battle report. Thankfully, this particular facility was reinforced more than most of the laboratories the Decepticons attacked. Its personnel specialized in finding and developing alternative energy sources, so every single human involved was well aware it was going to be one gigantic target for the energy-hungry Decepticons and had built the entire facility to Grapple and Hoist's specifications (minus painting every single wall orange, a fact of which Grapple was _still_ sore). Thus, the chaos from outside had not translated into excessive damage inside: a few crumbled ceiling panels, some cracks in the walls, a door or two that no longer fit right in its frame - nothing that would be excessively difficult to repair over the next few weeks. By the grace of Primus, there was little to clean up which the humans could not handle on their own, so Steeljaw and Ramhorn had already left just half a cycle past, leaving Eject and Rewind to finish with the worst of the mess.

The latter of the pair was rubbing the center ridge of his mask thoughtfully as he stared intently at the floor buffer he had been using. As Rewind swept and piled debris into a large piece of torn sheet metal he used as an improvised dust pan, Eject had followed him with the buffer and a trash can. Without wax on the floor, the buffer was not doing much more than smoothing away the microns of dust Rewind had neither the tools nor the time to manage on his own.

"Do you think this thing would hold my weight?" Eject asked, optics never leaving the buffer.

Rewind just stared at him for a few nanokliks. As he had dreaded, the boredom of not having a "real" task was obviously getting to his brother - that was another reason they needed to get out of here soon.

"I'm not sure I even want to know why you're asking such an inane question," Rewind answered with complete sincerity.

Eject ignored him and moved to test whatever theory he had developed in his boredom-addled mind, apparently deciding he no longer needed or wanted his twin's input. He grasped the handles of the buffer and hopped onto it, standing on it like a segway. The metal of the machine gave a worrying creak at his weight but, to Rewind's surprise, did not buckle - not yet, anyway.

"You know," Eject spoke once more. With each word, his excitement for his "brilliant" idea grew even as Rewind's stare only grew more and more stupefied. "I bet I could get Wheeljack to soup this thing up. Reinforce it so it doesn't make that noise, power up the motor, maybe make the buffer rotate faster. Ooh! Maybe even apply the wax on its own! He'd have to give it a wireless power supply, too, though. Then I could just hop on this thing and run up and down the halls - it'd shave off a lot of clean-up time! Especially if he could make two or three of them. And once the cleaning's over, we could race them down the halls! Buffer racing - wouldn't that be neat-"

The buffer creaked again, followed by a groan from the floor itself.

Before Rewind could say anything, the floor buckled underneath the buffer, unable to hold the combined weight of Eject and the industrial cleaning machine. Eject yelped and immediately hopped off of it, but the damage had already been done - picking up the buffer revealed a circular crater in the broken floor. Had he not hopped off immediately, he very likely would have gone through the floor to the next level.

"Oops," was all the blue and white cassette had to say for himself.

Rewind, on the other hand, could think of a _lot_ to say, but he kept most of it to himself. He let out a slow vent in a long, put-upon sigh as he merely remarked, "Eject...fix the hole, and then...fix the one in your head." He ignored the way his twin pouted and grabbed the trash can to continue sweeping, leaving Eject to determine how he was going to fix his own mess.

As Rewind continued down the hallway, he glanced up once more when he heard voices he did not recognize - he thought the humans had not been allowed back in the building yet, but he was apparently wrong. Sighing, he set down the trash can and started sweeping again, hoping they minded their own business and did not try to "help".

"They took the bait," he overheard one of the scientists mutter from one of the labs.

"Good," another responded. "I just hope it works. I wish there was a way for us to see results once it activates."

"It will work. It won't do much more than buy us some time, but that's better than nothing."

After that, their voices lowered to indistinct mumbling. Rewind looked to the door from where he heard them, curious, but he knew he could not venture closer without being blatantly nosy. Not that that _stopped_ him most of the time, but if Blaster had to reprimand him for excessive nosiness again, Rewind was quite sure he would be delegated to wash rack scrubbing for the rest of the vorn, and he could not risk that. The chemicals needed to scrub the wash racks let off fumes which corroded his tape, after all - he could not put his trivia in jeopardy.

So, with another sigh, he resumed sweeping. He needed to wrap up here anyway - their ride home was waiting for them outside, and it would not do to make him wait longer than necessary. As an officer, Blaster was never able to stay behind to transport the cassettes back to the _Ark_ after battles as his report was one of the most important at the debriefing, so someone whose report could wait always stayed behind - this time, it was Hound's turn which meant the drive home would at least be interesting. The green scout was a fountain of interesting trivia about nature and wildlife. It would make the drive less boring for Rewind and would possibly bore Eject into falling offline before he could have another "brilliant" idea.

Rewind could only hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few rather harrowing subjects which come up in this story such as unwanted pregnancy and its ramifications. The story itself is crack and does not dwell too much on these issues; this does not mean that the author is unaware or dismissive of their inherent problematic nature. It's a crack story intended for humor and sexy tiems, not a political piece; please don't read too much into it. If I were writing a more serious piece, these issues would be dealt with much more appropriately.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nanoklik - ~1 second  
> klik - 1.2 minutes  
> breem - 8.3 minutes  
> cycle - 2 hours  
> orn - 1 day  
> stellar cycle - 1 year  
> vorn - 83 years

The schematics for the solar extractor were not precisely ignored but were not nearly as celebrated as Frenzy's other find. As soon as the after-mission debrief began and Frenzy made his report on the thermal energy collector, the files for the solar extractor were archived for later examination, and every officer in the room clustered at the table as Frenzy linked himself to its console and uploaded the schematics. File after file was examined, and even those who did not quite understand what they were looking at grew excited simply because of the _other_ excited Decepticons in the room.

The Constructicons clustered around their end of the table and stared at the glassy screen set into it, soon joined by Starscream who, in his eagerness for the new project, did not care that he had vacated his coveted seat directly beside Megatron, a seat which he and Soundwave normally fought over almost traditionally. Soundwave claimed Starscream did not deserve that post so close to Megatron because of his treacherous ways; Starscream insisted the chair was more comfortable and that, as a more delicately-framed seeker, he needed it, especially after a long battle. The other officers had long since learned to ignore them, and even Megatron found some amusement in watching them bicker over it nearly every debrief. Swindle had been running a pool for the better part of the last few Earth years betting whether or not Soundwave would finally manage to usurp the seat before the Decepticons finally vacated Earth, a bet in which even Megatron himself had invested as the payout was some of the finest high grade distilled since the end of the Golden Age, acquired by means only Swindle knew and no one else was certain they _wanted_ to know.

As such, the nanoklik Starscream vacated the seat and rushed over to the Constructicons' side of the table, Megatron's gaze shifted over to Soundwave and, with a barely restrained smirk, gave a quick, pointed twitch of his head in the direction of the coveted chair. Soundwave did not need more than the one hint and quickly moved before he could be noticed in the excitement over the schematics. As he settled into the cushioned chair - okay, so Starscream was right; for some reason, this chair _was_ more comfortable than the others despite appearing to be exactly the same...or maybe it was a placebo effect from finally getting what he wanted - Soundwave barely held back a soft laugh as Megatron sent him a quick, private hail, the warlord's amusement clear despite the blankness of his expression.

< _Don't worry - I'll split the spoils with you._ >

< _Appreciated._ >

The rest of the debrief was filled with excited chatter and images flashing from one end of the table to the other as all present added notes to the schematic, provided hypotheses, and proposed changes to the design. As they discussed, Soundwave linked himself to the console and worked on making a three-dimensional model of the schematic. All present had already downloaded the preexisting schematic for the discussion, but humans had an annoying tendency to think only two-dimensionally - a three-dimensional model was essential for the Constructicons to begin work on a prototype. As changes and notes were made to the humans' original design, Soundwave incorporated them into the model.

The excitement was not unfounded - one of the Decepticons' greatest frustrations in their last quarter-vorn of being stranded in the ocean was their inability to harvest the thermal heat tantalizingly close to the ship. The availability of the rich energy was like an energon treat, and their inability to collect it was the treat being held just out of reach, an ornly source of frustration. It was doubly insulting because it was one of the few resources they could potentially harvest without the Autobots detecting and attempting to stop them.

Another source of energy they could harvest almost undetected was the wave motion of the sea, but that had a separate series of problems on its own. When the high saline content of the water was not corroding the energy collector's delicate components, the large, mammalian ocean wildlife was damaging it in attempts to discern if it was edible (or, on one rather baffling occasion, it was damaged by a cephalopod attempting to _mate_ with it - Rumble was still too traumatized to relay the details). It yielded a high amount of energy, but continually needing to repair or replace it was frustrating and wasted parts and materials which then had to be replaced _somehow_ , most often by a raid on industrial facilities, which resulted in a confrontation with the Autobots, which resulted in wasting the energy they harvested on the battle itself as well as the repairs afterward.

This new heat extractor was just the break they needed from the endless frustration.

As Soundwave finished a preliminary model, he returned his attention to the chatter in the room. They had progressed from making adjustments to the schematics to compiling a list of materials needed for construction of the prototype. Soundwave uploaded the preliminary model despite the fact that it was unfinished - he could complete it over the next few cycles. Even unfinished, it was still better than the two-dimensional schematic, and it would provide the Constructicons a true jumping-off point for their "shopping list", so to speak, enabling them to better determine what materials they already possessed and which they needed to either acquire from Cybertron or liberate from the humans.

Light danced all around the rim of the table, met in the middle, and coalesced into a transparent, three-dimensional image of the heat conductor. Excitement which had waned in the cycle of discussion bloomed once more, and now that they could see it on all sides, the Constructicons and Starscream began discussing the upcoming prototype in earnest. 

At least until Starscream's vision pierced the transparent image and saw something was wrong with the other side of the table. It did not take him but a few nanokliks to determine exactly _what_ was wrong about the same time the rest of the Decepticons in the room noticed. Starscream's voice cut through the combination of defeated groans and happy cheers as the betting pool finally ended.

"Get out of my chair!"

—

Over the course of the next five orns, the prototype was built, tested, and melted. After being slapped upside their helms for blaming the failure on "it's a prototype!", the Constructicons made adjustments to the design and built a second which held up much better. There was still a way to go to make it able to survive the temperature of magma, but they were on the right track, and after fifteen more orns of building, testing, tweaking, and more testing, Scrapper announced they had a fully functional heat conductor which could withstand the approximately 1500° Kelvin temperature of their nearby hot spot. Even if it did not survive for longer than a few dozen orns, it would enable them to collect more than enough energy for them to afford to replace it.

Once the final version was completed, Starscream had decreed that they needed to make at least five more - three to use at the same time, and three to keep as replacements on-hand. The more collectors they had out at one time, the more energon they could make, and if they already had a replacement available, there would be no collection downtime should one malfunction or melt. For once, no one could disagree with him, but the Constructicons had admitted that while they had the materials and the energy to make another five, it would take longer than the Decepticons as a whole truly wanted in order to finally be able to use their new energy extraction method. It had taken fifteen orns of constant work to make the final - even knowing what to do and how to do it correctly this time, it was still going to take at least ten per conductor, and they could not wait that long to send another shipment of energon to Cybertron.

In what the Autobots would likely consider a surprising show of teamwork and comradeship, a plan was made: rather than leaving the construction entirely to the Constructicons, everyone aboard the _Victory_ would have a hand in the building process, even Megatron. Each Constructicon was placed in charge of a team of mechs to focus on making one conductor. Some Decepticons were tasked with the wiring, some with welding, some with circuitry, others with insulation. Even the most completely scientifically inept mechs such as Wildrider, Brawl, and Skywarp were given obligations, even if it was only the ferrying of parts and tools or venturing into the ocean to test the conductor before it could be called finished.

In order to complete the project, every single mech aboard the _Victory_ who had not already done so was required to download the schematics, both human-made and the finalized model, so everyone would know exactly what was expected of him in his appointed task. Both to solicit his input for future upgrades as well as to explain why the next energon shipment would be delayed, the schematics and models were forwarded to Shockwave on Cybertron. While some mechs claimed he did not appreciate the importance of this project, Megatron knew the normally stoic guardian had been ecstatic as well - some mechs just did not like to show it.

So, for the next ten orns, the _Victory_ was almost peacefully quiet as every Decepticon focused on the construction. Even those who were notorious for promoting dissension or otherwise causing trouble, whether out of revenge for a previous prank or simply because of boredom, worked quietly and with purpose. The importance of completing the project temporarily blurred the chain of command as Reflector cut metal beside a busily programming Soundwave and Dead End installed wires and filaments alongside Megatron's welding station. All knew that everything would go back to bickering and backstabbing as normal after completion, but for now, they focused merely on doing a good job for the benefit of the Decepticon cause.

—

Onslaught was uncomfortable.

He shifted minutely in his seat as he only half-listened to the gathering of officers. It was the eleventh orn. Construction had completed the orn previous, and the conductors had been installed in the hot spot just a few cycles past, the cabling directing energy from the hot spot to the _Victory_ hidden partially under a combination of sea rock, plants, and coral. Already, energon was being harvested, and the meeting was to gauge the collection rate as well as the quality of the energon before scheduling a shipment to Cybertron. Onslaught was supposed to be paying attention in case he had any insight to offer, but he could not bring himself to care.

Glancing around the room, Onslaught could tell he was not the only one who was uncomfortable. With their long project finished - thirty orns from the raid to the last orn of construction - and obviously a resounding success, even the more restrained officers should have been brimming with excitement and celebration, but every mech in the room was instead varying levels of subdued, calm, tense, or...uncomfortable, many trying not to shift in their own seats, including Soundwave (who had been banished to the complete opposite end of the table from Starscream for the foreseeable future) and Megatron (who found the seeker's sulky "revenge" endlessly amusing). The Combaticon leader supposed it made sense when he thought about it - they _had_ , every single one of them, just spent ten orns working almost non-stop with each of their teams to complete the project. They had to all be tired; some had been able to rest more than others, but Onslaught knew some of those present had only gotten a cycle, maybe two, of recharge at a time before immediately resuming work. After all, the task was far too important to put off if possible. So, yes, he supposed it made sense that they would all be somewhat subdued after such hard work.

However, that did not explain the _discomfort_.

There was an extremely distracting buzz in his circuits, as if something was crawling up and down his very wiring. Sensors were firing for no reason, and warmth snaked its way through him from his spark to his extremities. It might have been pleasant if he were in the right mood or with appealing company in the privacy of his quarters; as neither was the case, it was only irritating. He tried to justify it as lack of proper recharge and a defrag put off too long. It was the only thing that made sense, and that would hopefully be rectified soon as he thought he had heard someone mention and the other officers agree that half of the Decepticon contingent would have the next four cycles off-duty to recover from their hard work, and once they were online again, the other half would get their well-deserved rest.

Onslaught was not one to shirk his responsibilities - in fact, he prided himself on his philosophy of hard work done well and punctually, a philosophy and method of operation which had only grown ever stronger and more strict since being granted a second chance to serve under Megatron. He had been imprisoned on Cybertron along with the rest of his team for daring to defy Megatron regarding a strike point on Perihex - more than defy him, Onslaught's team had actually gone rogue for a time and carried out their own agenda against Autobot encampments which had not been part of any strike plans. Then, he rebelled once more in a fit of power-induced madness after Starscream had brought them to Earth and formed his team into the combiner Bruticus. Onslaught was well and truly cowed now and wanted nothing more than to please his commander so maybe, just maybe, after the Decepticons finally achieved their glorious victory, he and his teammates might be granted parole rather than locked away once more. If Megatron asked something of him, he did it; if it was out of his range of expertise - or if particularly demeaning and one of the other Combaticons needed to be punished - he assigned it to one of his teammates.

He was a good soldier now and would never shirk his responsibilities despite his energy levels, but Onslaught still found himself hoping his name would be in the first group allowed to rest once designations were randomized at the end of the meeting.

If the meeting ever _ended_ , that was. Onslaught glanced to his chronometer, and he could have sworn it had dragged on longer than what the program was telling him. It would not have seemed so long if he were not so frelling _uncomfortable_ \- he was growing hotter by the klik, his plating was beginning to oversensitize for absolutely no reason, and the tingle in his circuits had, at some point over the last two breems, changed to a low, steady throb. A good, long recharge and defrag cycle had to be what he needed - surely, that would sort his over-tired systems back to normal.

Another glance around the room told him yes, he was definitely not the only one so uncomfortable. Starscream was sitting at an odd angle in his chair so he could not-very-covertly rub the edge of one wing against the back to scratch an itch, Motormaster had nearly crumpled the arms of his own chair in a fit of tension which was odd even for him, the glow of Hook's visor seemed to be somewhat glazed over, twice now Onslaught had heard _someone_ 's internal fans power up before they were quickly silenced, and beside him, Soundwave had noticeably stopped himself at least three times from reaching down to touch the buttons of his alt mode. Even Onslaught, though he was mortified to admit it, had caught himself a few times moving one hand or the other under the table to rub the inside of his own thigh. What was _wrong_ with him - what was wrong with _all_ of them?

Recharge. Defrag. That had to be the answer. He willed it to be the answer - he _begged_ it to be the answer.

And he begged his name to come up on the list Megatron was about to randomize. If nothing else than to have some privacy to get rid of the causeless charge building in his systems so he could rest.

—

Ramjet stared at the controls for the wash rack without truly seeing them. His vision blurred at the edges, narrowed to little more than a pinpoint directly in front of him. His circuitry _crawled_ under his plating which felt as if he were being nibbled to death by glitched scraplets. Every wire in his body felt frayed, misfiring and sending incorrect signals to his extremities. His entire frame was overheated, and the cold spray from the rack nozzle was just barely managing to dull it.

What was _happening_? Ramjet had been on the list to rest first, and he had barely been able to for the steadily increasing levels of discomfort. The defrag process alone should have cleared any glitched code or at least patched it enough to make him more functional than _this_. He had hoped a cold post-recharge cleansing would help as well, but so far, it only managed to annoy him.

He turned around to let the spray hit his back and glanced over the rest of the racks. It was plainly visible he was not the only one in such a sorry state. It seemed as if almost everyone who had the first rest shift was here - everyone who did not have his own, private rack, anyway, he mused upon noticing Soundwave's absence. Motormaster had his arms stretched straight out with his hands splayed on the wall so he could lean forward and let the spray cascade down his long back, an uncharacteristically obvious show of discomfort and weakness from the Stunticon commander. Thundercracker continually rubbed one arm and then the other from wrist to shoulder and back down as if he could possibly brush away the annoying sensations. Brawl merely stood perfectly still under a nozzle set to its strongest spray, his face pressed into his hands as his vents roared, wide open and venting steam.

Everyone else was in a similar state. Aside from unpleasant groans, whirring fans, and hissing vents, the wash racks were unusually, disturbingly quiet. What was _wrong_ with all of them?

Ramjet was not stupid - of course he _recognized_ the sensations for what they were: a charge that would not go away. It was the "why" which frustrated him. Generally, if his systems were running hot, there was a good _reason_ \- someone had brushed his wing the right way, he had made an overture which had been well-received, a battle had gone particularly well, someone bent over at just the right angle - anything like that. There was no _reason_ for _this_.

Doubly frustrating was the fact that there had not been a reason for it when he was placed on rest shift either, yet the charge had not let him fall offline until he spent nearly four breems with his claws buried in his valve, rutting against his fingers like a cheap pleasure drone. Three overloads later had finally enabled him to fall offline, but the relief was temporary. Four cycles of attempted recharge, and he had barely managed half that from the charge in his systems continually awakening him. Normally, Ramjet might have tried to explain it away as a systems glitch and gone to the Constructicons for a full diagnostic, but if everyone else was feeling the same way - which they quite obviously were, given the way Kickback sunk down into a corner of the wash racks stroking his claws over the panel between his legs, heedless of his abruptly very interested audience - the problem was much more severe than that and _definitely_ not isolated.

Ramjet heard the _snick_ of Kickback's panel snapping open - or was that Blitzwing's? - and his own valve clenched on itself, reminding him of how horribly _empty_ it was just as it had repeatedly for the past four cycles. The constant ache of his valve surprised the white and black seeker - he was normally a spike mech. Sure, he enjoyed a good valve frag every now and then, but his preference, by far, was to give it rather than take it, which worked out well enough in his trine since Dirge had a valve preference and Thrust did not care either way regardless of the periodic jabs at his name.

Still, it was very unusual for Ramjet to want something in his valve, even when he _was_ in his right mind and actively seeking a romp. Yet, right now, that was all he could think about; the mere idea of unsheathing his spike and pouncing onto the now rather noisily self-servicing Insecticon was not appealing in the least. It was further proof that he was not in his right mind - as if he needed any _more_ proof in the first place.

Ramjet tore his attention from Kickback when he noticed Thundercracker leave, bypassing the dryers to drip cleanser down the hallways in his haste to escape. The white seeker supposed it was either prudishness or a need for privacy to take care of his own charge - or a combination of both.

A high-pitched _chirr_ pulled Ramjet's attention back to the Insecticon. Oh, what the slag - no one else was offering, only staring, and if he helped out the bug, maybe Kickback would return the favor. It would at least kill time until the other half of the Decepticon forces were awake once more; then, maybe they could figure out what in the Pit was going on.

Mind made up, Ramjet slapped the controls to his wash rack station to shut off the spray and went to join the Insecticon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nanoklik - ~1 second  
> klik - 1.2 minutes  
> breem - 8.3 minutes  
> cycle - 2 hours  
> orn - 1 day  
> stellar cycle - 1 year  
> vorn - 83 years

There was no denying it or blaming it on other factors anymore: the Decepticons had a problem.

Three orns since the completion of the thermal energy project saw every single Decepticon aboard the _Victory_ rendered more or less useless for duty. The water around the ship bubbled with the continual expulsion of all the heat the mechs inside emanated. Corridors stayed warm, private quarters even more so. Every mech wandered the halls or stared at his appointed tasks with a glazed, very much "not all there" expression, if he was paying attention to his appointed task at all. Half of the Decepticons marked as being on duty were not at their posts and were instead either holed away in their private or shared quarters or a storage room somewhere desperately trying to rid their exhausted bodies of a charge which refused to relent. Those who were not on-duty were in the same areas when they were not roaming the corridors aimlessly, legs stained from hips to ankles with lubricants which constantly dripped from closed interfacing panels - those who _bothered_ to close them anymore. In the "best" scenario, the on-duty Decepticons actually _were_ at their posts trying to rut against their own fingers or, on at least one occasion, the arms of their chairs and do their jobs at the same time. Some mechs had overloaded more in the past three orns than they had in the past fifty _vorns_ , and the charge _still_ would not abate.

The Autobots could have stormed the ship at any given klik and likely would not have garnered more of a reaction than a stupefied blink. At least until the first Decepticon tried to jump the nearest Autobot to ride his spike like the most desperate of pleasure drones.

Dignity? What was that?

Dignity was something the officers were trying to recover from their present location assembled uncomfortably in the war room. The Chair had been pushed to a far corner, and Starscream had threatened swift and violent retribution against anyone who sat in it and ruined it. No one was in the mood to argue, not even Megatron. Of course, that left one less usable chair. Starscream had confiscated Soundwave's, still sore about losing the bet over an Earth month past, and an annoyed Soundwave then stole the first empty chair he found, leaving the late-arriving Motormaster to sit on the floor and sulk.

Soundwave currently had several cables connecting himself to the table's central console, patching the audio from the war room to the rest of the _Victory_. The war room was not nearly large enough to hold all of the Decepticon force on Earth, and it was expected that very few of the non-officers were near or would pay attention to any of the consoles throughout the ship, so relaying the audio directly to their communication systems was the best alternative. It would allow them to hear as well as respond to the debrief. It was either that or assemble everyone onto the bridge and try to ignore the growing puddles, the noises, or both.

All present were silent, listening raptly to the Constructicons explain the situation. The worst part, depending on who one asked, was that very few Decepticons understood what was happening to their bodies. Those few who knew _what_ it was did not understand _why_. Explaining the "what" to the remainder of the mechs aboard the _Victory_ was tasked at a higher priority than determining the "why", though the "why" and the "how in smelt do we fix it" were also extremely high priority.

Hook paged through his data pad as he spoke, his voice raised enough to carry through Soundwave to the remainder of the soldiers, though it was laced with a hint of static and wavering just slightly as he struggled to keep his mind on the relay of information and not on the ache between his legs. "I've compiled as much information on our...ailment as I could," the Constructicon explained. "It isn't much given that I don't have access to the databases on Cybertron. Shockwave was not at his post when I petitioned him for access; I can only assume he was away fielding an Autobot attack. Fortunately, even with our limited archived data here on Earth, I was still able to compile enough information to give us a good jumping-off point."

Hook lifted his gaze from the data pad to glance over the silent room. "What the other Constructicons and I found confirmed our suspicions," he continued. "We were alive during the Golden Age when this particular 'ailment' was much more common than it is in current times. Some of you present were as well, I'm sure, but I know many of you were not Sparked until after the midway point of the Golden Age, some of you nearer to the end, so this meeting is to explain to those of you unfamiliar with the 'ailment' exactly what it is and what it means.

"It's a vestigial block of code found in virtually every Cybertronian ever built. It predates the Golden Age. It predates Vector Sigma and possibly even the Matrix; it may even date back to the First Thirteen - no one knows. All we know is to find a mech who does _not_ have this code is so rare as to be non-existent." He paused to tighten his grip on the data pad, his hand beginning to tremble from the effort of focusing on talking rather than the charge clawing at his circuits and the heat pouring out of his vents.

"What this code does is sinister but simple. It's known as 'Calling' or 'Priming'. Our bodies have switched to 'reproduction mode'."

< _'Reproduction'?!_ > someone - Hook thought it sounded like Wildrider - yelled through Soundwave's speakers. < _What do you mean 'reproduction'?!_ >

"I mean 'reproduction'," Hook responded, his tone bland even as his voice grew unsteady. "As a race, Cybertronians didn't always have Vector Sigma to create new sparks. Before him, we merged sparks to procreate, and before that...well, there are many factors which indicate Cybertronian life was created by organics and meant to emulate them. The mere existence of our interfacing hardware is one of those factors..."

Hook trailed off, his voice grown too unsteady to be understood, and Scrapper reached over to take the data pad from him and allow his teammate to rest. "Another factor," Scrapper continued in Hook's place, "is what we're experiencing now. It's analogous to a heat cycle found in organic life - in fact, that's basically what it _is_."

< _Why would we have something like that?_ > The sharp echo accompanying the question, as if multiple mechs were speaking at once, meant it had to be from Reflector.

"As Hook said, we were designed this way by whoever first created Cybertronian life," Scrapper answered. "Ever since we as a race moved to only procreating by spark merging, and then to using Vector Sigma, interfacing has been a purely recreational act. We do it to feel good or to alleviate boredom, not to create new life, but we're still perfectly _capable_ of reproducing the 'old fashioned' way. We have spikes, valves, nanite chambers, spark link cables, and the necessary code for making it all work. All vestigial and completely unnecessary for basic function, but there just the same.

"The problem stems from the nanite chamber. It's incapable of staying primed for reproduction _all_ the time. Otherwise, we'd run the chance of reproducing every time we interfaced, even without activated spark link cables. Thus, the chamber lies dormant for an indeterminate amount of time until it receives a specific line of code in order to activate and prepare itself for becoming gravid. If it were not for the 'Call mode' - or 'heat cycle', if you prefer - no one would know when the code was active."

< _So..._ > Between the sound of roaring vents in the background and the static in his voice making him sound like his teammates, Scrapper could not be certain if the new Decepticon speaking through Soundwave was Thrust, Dirge, or Ramjet. < _Basically, this 'heat cycle' is just a giant, blinking, neon advertisement screaming, 'My body is ready, come take me Big Daddy'?_ >

"...pretty much."

"If it's just code, can't we just delete it?" Motormaster asked in a static-laced mutter. He was still sitting on the floor, one arm folded on the table with his head resting on it. His other hand could not be seen, but the desperate, slightly glazed-over glow of his optics more or less told Scrapper what it was busy doing.

Hook spoke again to answer, "I'm afraid it's not that simple. This coding is ingrained into our very core programming. It's been a part of us for countless generations, countless vorns. It may even be a part of our very _sparks_. Even if we _could_ isolate and delete it, there's no telling what sort of damage it would do to us, physically _or_ mentally."

"What I don't understand," Starscream spoke, leaning heavily against the table and rubbing his face wearily, "is why is it bothering us _now_? I remember going through this once a _very_ long time ago, before the war - back before I even enlisted in the Iacon Science Academy, and that was several hundred vorns ago. Status quo would indicate that it should have cropped up again before _now_."

"Another factor: why _all_ Decepticons at once?" Soundwave intoned, and several murmurs of agreement sounded through the room both from those present as well as through the blue officer's speakers.

"That's what we've been trying to figure out," Long Haul spoke. "One, two, even five of us suddenly going into heat would make sense, but not _every fragging one of us_. So, we did a little more research." He tapped his own pad to bring up his notes and slid it to Scrapper. "If we'd been able to get hold of Shockwave, we might have gotten more complete records, but from what we had at our disposal, we were able to find what could be a pattern to the heat cycle in general."

Scrapper took the pad and continued, "Reproduction - at least, _this_ form of reproduction - is a very taxing process on both body and spark, and the associated code was designed to work around this. A mech who is not in the right condition will not 'Call' no matter how long it's been since his last one, even if he's never 'Called' before in his life. Basically, the code assesses the potential carrier, and if he is not healthy, it will not activate. The code doesn't just assess physical health, either - it factors in physical, mental, and emotional conditions, including stress levels."

< _So, we haven't had to deal with this before because of the war,_ > Thundercracker said.

"Exactly. And those of you who have never endured this before were either not old enough before the war or your occupations at the time were deemed by the programming too stressful for reproduction protocols. Construction, mining, military-" Scrapper glanced briefly to Megatron. "...among other physically taxing occupations. All of these would have caused enough constant stress for the programming to never activate."

"And now we're suffering because we just spent the last almost fifteen orns doing nothing but sitting around, keeping our tanks topped, and _cooperating_." Onslaught sounded uncharacteristically angry, but no one could blame him as they, too, came to the same revelation.

"...pretty much," Scavenger said helplessly after he and the other Constructicons exchanged an uneasy glance.

< _I am never being a team player again,_ > Skywarp whined.

Hook interjected, "Though even that doesn't make much sense - fifteen orns should not have been long enough to trigger a _mass_ heat cycle. One or two mechs, as Long Haul said, maybe. Not _all_ of us at once. There is another factor here somewhere; we just haven't been able to research thoroughly enough to _find_ it."

"Enough," Megatron interrupted where he was leaning heavily against one arm, the upper half of his face pressed into his hand while the other hand clenched and unclenched on the table. "Now that we know _what_ it is, how do we make it _stop_?"

< _Yeah, please don't tell me we're all going to have to clutch!_ > Breakdown whimpered.

< _We **shouldn't** ,_ > Blast Off spoke. < _I certainly didn't the last time I went through this._ >

"Me neither," Starscream agreed. "I'm quite sure I'd remember clutching." He finally lifted his face from his hands and moved his haggard gaze to the Constructicons. "I seem to recall just locking myself up in my place and taking care of it on my own for a while, but I don't remember how long. The orns...kind of blurred together."

Hook nodded. "That would be the only option for a mech on his own. Normally, however, the fastest 'cure' is an infusion of transmetal. Without a cable link-up, the chances of clutching are minuscule, but presence of a spike in the valve and transfluid in the chamber tells the 'heat' code that a mate has been found and to go dormant once more."

The room went entirely silent. Not even the mechs connected remotely made a sound as those present in the room shifted uncomfortably in their seats, even Megatron.

"And therein, as you've all guessed, lies our _other_ problem," Scrapper stated needlessly.

Looks and glances were exchanged around the room, varying in visible emotion from embarrassment to bewilderment; some were even relieved that it was not just _he_ who had been rendered impotent. No Decepticon had been willing to admit it to any other throughout the last three orns of their "ailment". What had started as a simple, or so they thought, lack of desire to extend their spikes as a side-effect of the heat cycle had actually revealed itself to be a complete _inability_ to do so. Even though their interfacing panels opened, the secondary cover designed to protect the sensitive tips of their spikes would not, or could not, spiral open. All commands to extend were met with refusal.

"Yeah," Bonecrusher grumbled to reacquire everyone's attention. "It's not just you. That's yet another reason why none of this adds up right."

< _What are we supposed to do, then then?_ > Shrapnel demanded. < _We've already gone three orns trying to take care of it ourselves ourselves, and it isn't working working!_ >

"It could take as long as seven to ten," Long Haul replied to a chorus of unhappy noises both from mechs physically present and speaking through Soundwave. "We're going to have to treat this as if we were back on Cybertron and on our own - the way Starscream mentioned. Transmetal isn't _required_ to put an end to it - or _shouldn't_ be, anyway. It's just the _quickest_ cure."

Hook continued, "We're going to keep trying to get to the bottom of this. Bonecrusher, Scavenger, and Long Haul will continue our research - there might be something else in the _Victory_ 's copy of the archives that we haven't found yet, and they will continue to attempt establishing contact with Shockwave. In the meantime, we need everyone to deliver us a copy of your core programming. There may be a simple, fixable glitch somewhere - maybe someone went into heat and gave off a signal that somehow triggered everyone else. Going over and comparing everyone's core programming will be my and Scrapper's task - neither of us is a coding specialist, but unfortunately, we don't _have_ a coding specialist in our ranks. Still, inconsistencies should be obvious enough for us to pinpoint regardless of our different training."

"I'm working on a large batch of coolant to distribute among everyone," Mixmaster said, breaking his customary silence. Of the Constructicons, he was the quietest and rarely spoke when one of his teammates could do so in his place. "It should last longer and cool more than the standard grade and keep us from overheating excessively. It will be ready for distribution in the next two cycles."

Scavenger spoke again, "He's also working on a tranquilizer that might temporarily block the heat code so we can at least get some _work_ done while we're waiting for this to blow over, but that won't be ready until tomorrow at the earliest."

< _And while you're doing all that, what should **we** do?_ > someone else asked – the static was so thick on his end of the line from either a bad connection or too much in his own vocalizer that no one was sure who it was. < _There has to be **something** we can do to make this bearable!_ >

Scrapper sighed. It was a trait nearly every Cybertronian on Earth had adopted from the human population. At first, the Decepticons fought the assimilation of the organics' traits and habits, but some stuck, mostly because there were few better ways of displaying one's mood without words. "Really, all we _can_ do is…try to take care of it. Enough overloads might make it stop – that's how mechs who lived alone before the war managed, so it should eventually work."

"We've spent three orns trying that," Onslaught growled. "I've overloaded more times in the last three orns than I truly care to think about – certainly more than I normally do in the span of a full _vorn_!"

"Clearly," Hook retorted, his own growl barely restrained, "this is more severe than a standard heat cycle. We've already been over the numerous inconsistencies and how many different ways this doesn't add up. All we can do until we know _exactly_ what we're dealing with is try conventional methods!"

Here, Scavenger interjected again in an attempt to keep the two mechs' comments from turning into a full argument. "It could be that there's a specific number we have to hit; it could be that it needs to hit some sort of specific intensity; it could be something else entirely that we haven't figured out yet. Continual overloads, at least until Mixmaster's finished the tranquilizers and coolant, is all we can really instruct. Even though it's temporary, no one can disagree that the edge is taken off after an overload, right?" That earned him a few grumbled, reluctant agreements. "It would be best if we quit trying to stick to ourselves and our teams and helped each other out." He ignored the range of noises and faces _that_ remark caused. "I'm sorry, but that's the best we can instruct right now."

Long Haul spoke again, "We've made some devices that might help, but we didn't have time to make one for everyone, so officers get first pick, and the rest will be distributed on a first-come, first-served basis. With them, you might be able to continue self-treatment and not have to rely on your teammates to help. They're of varying sizes and uses, and the main function of all of them is vibration. They should work well for just about everyone."

Starscream favored him with a blank stare. "...in other words, you made 'facing toys."

"Well, if you want to be _crude_ about it..."

Megatron, who had not lifted his head from his palm the entire meeting, grumbled, "Alright, alright – does anyone have any questions that aren't just more complaints or repeats of what's already been asked?"

< _Can we get a ruling on what other mechs can and can't use to get themselves off?!_ > Ramjet yelled. < _Because this is **not** why my head is shaped this way!_ >

< _...do I want to know who tried that?_ > Thundercracker asked with genuine, albeit disturbed, curiosity.

"I must admit," Onslaught muttered, "that Brawl and I have been getting some rather disturbing looks as well. May we request that our gun barrels are off limits as well?"

< _**Please**!_ > the other Combaticon exclaimed, and in the background, Soundwave knew he heard Vortex snicker as Brawl hissed at his teammate to "quit looking at him like that".

< _Mine too!_ > Blitzwing declared.

"Enough!" Megatron yelled to cease the chatter erupting from an increasingly disturbed Soundwave's speakers. "Images I absolutely did _not_ want or need – take it as a blanket order that all body parts are off-limits except for fingers, tongue, and spike if someone manages to get his to work unless the other mech explicitly grants permission! And feet, if you roll that way!" He leaned heavily on his elbows and rubbed his face with both hands. "I can't believe I had to even order such a thing."

"I'm trying to purge it from my memory," Starscream muttered with a faint shudder of his wings.

< _I...guess I could allow use of my cables,_ > Astrotrain reluctantly said. < _It's not their true function, but I'll admit I've used them that way in the past._ >

Blast Off sighed heavily and added, < _And I suppose I could allow mine to be used as well, but only if the mechs involved agree to some ground rules I will go over in-person._ > Optics and visors around the room lit up, intrigued and hungry. Shuttle mechs were a rare breed, equipped with numerous, tendril-like cables which could be used for a plethora of tasks from merely docking with satellites and fueling stations to delicate sensor work to manipulation of objects. It was almost like having a dozen extra, extremely flexible hands – only a shuttle mech's processor was capable of coping with the extra appendages as well as the delicate nanocircuitry capable of shaping them to serve almost any function imaginable. It made their kind highly sought after before the war as they were fetishized by nearly every other frame type. Just the announcement from the two shuttle mechs that they were willing to offer the use of their cables was enough to make the cooling fans of every single mech in the war room spin noticeably faster.

"I hope you two realize you're going to have mechs tearing down your door in the next breem," Hook remarked.

< _...I think I hear incoming already._ > Even those in the war room heard the faint but very apparent heavy thud of running footsteps on Astrotrain's end of the frequency.

Megatron shut off his optics and tapped his forehead with his fingers as if that alone would rid him of the images plaguing his processor. "Anything _else_?" he growled, and everyone fell silent once more. Even if there were still questions or concerns, everyone knew that tone, and none were willing to anger their leader any further, not with him just as frustrated as they were - possibly even more so. "Then we're adjourned. We'll meet again in two orns. Constructicons, I want _real_ answers by then, and make an announcement when the coolant and tranquilizers are ready!"

"Yes sir," six voices replied in unison.

"Dismissed!"

—

The Combaticons' shared quarters were a disaster area. Not that this was atypical - when a slimy conmech, an aloof ex-aristocrat, a perfectionist tactician, an easily confused and annoyed soldier, and an interrogator with more than a few screws loose all shared the same large area, chaos overwhelmed order without really trying. Most of them did not mind (three out of five was more than half, so that counted as "most"), but the main problem was not so much the sharing of the quarters but the _size_. Or lack thereof. It was no secret that the Combaticons had been given the smallest quarters on the ship in comparison to their combined sizes, and though the five mechs quietly griped to one another about it, they did not argue or attempt to vie for anything better. The longer they stayed on Megatron's good side, the better their chances of being allowed on probation - or, they sometimes dared to fantasize, being forgiven of their transgressions entirely - once the war ended.

Normally, it was not so bad - as the largest team member due to his alt mode, Blast Off was granted the largest berth set against the wall left of the door. The other four berths were attached to the front and right walls bunk-style; Swindle and Vortex both preferred the top berths, Onslaught vastly preferred the bottom berth directly across from the door so he would always be the first to know who entered their quarters, and Brawl, frankly, did not care as long as he was not on the same wall as Vortex who had to recharge on his side with his rotor blades hanging off the edge. Dodging around them without pulling Vortex off the berth on top of him was an exercise in futility for one as uncoordinated on first boot-up as Brawl.

There was barely enough room for anyone to spread out or to have any sort of personal possessions. Chairs and tables were certainly out - they sat on the edges of their berths instead. Swindle kept his cache of varying types of energon used for bets and payments as well as a fully stocked cleaning and waxing kit in a section of the wall he had hollowed out, Vortex stowed his interrogation kit beneath whichever berth he happened to kick it under, and there were a few data pads strewn on the floor here and there. Overall, it felt more like a cell than a room, which, they supposed, was the effect Megatron wanted.

Still, it was not _so_ bad. They had grown accustomed to it in the stellar cycles since being brought to Earth and had learned how to make it work for them. Thankfully, their duty shifts were usually spread out in a way that it was very rare for all five of them to be in their quarters at the same time.

Of course, that was before the last three orns.

Brawl should have known to escape the nanoklik Blast Off sanctioned use of his cables. Not that he was _against_ the cables or anything or that he minded mechs other than his team using them. He had, of course, enjoyed them quite a bit since they were formed into a combiner team. Blast Off's "ground rules" were fair enough - don't let them touch the floor, don't mechhandle them, for Primus' sake _don't step on them_ , and fragging reciprocate rather than leaving him to do all the work - and Brawl had greatly enjoyed that unique and rather kinky aspect of his teammate many a time during their stay on Earth.

The problem was the fact that when they were unleashed, the room got crowded. _Fast_. And that was just with himself and maybe one other Combaticon present.

Currently, Brawl could barely see the door. The floor was...somewhere - ground rule number one had obviously been bent a little. Within the first two kliks of the officers' meeting being adjourned and the feed through Soundwave being cut off, the already cramped room had grown _very_ crowded. They had finally been forced to lock the door because there was just no more space. Blast Off had actually managed to run out of cables, anyway, as he was just not as big as Astrotrain and did not contain the number the triplechanger likely sported.

Brawl had lost track of who all had entered a cycle ago. Across the room from him was just a writhing mass of brown cables with splashes other mechs' colorful paint schemes. If he concentrated, which was hard enough at the moment anyway, he thought he could make out Skywarp's shade of purple, Drag Strip's yellow, Brawl knew Vortex was in there _somewhere_ simply because he had already been in the room when everyone else invaded, that looked kind of like Shrapnel's head between Blast Off's spread legs, and even if she had not been readily visible perched on the edge of one of the top berths with Blast Off's thinnest cable delving in and out of her tiny valve while another stroked over her wings, there was no denying the happy chirping was coming from Laserbeak. 

The sight alone was enough to keep Brawl's large tank engine roaring even if he had not been in such an endlessly aroused state already. Thankfully, he could not get much of the scent he knew had to be permeating the room. His olfactory sensors were tuned for elements and compounds which could be turned into explosives or ammunition, generally solids, not much else. If it was not easily flammable or could not be used as a component in some dastardly device, he usually could not smell it very well, if at all.

The _noises_ were the killer.

Brawl was a noise mech - he liked noise. He liked making noise. He liked hearing noise. His quarters were currently _full of noise_ \- whines, moans, screams, an ecstatically chirping cassetticon, whimpers, not to mention all the noises of cables sliding in and out of _entirely_ too-lubricated valves and said lubricant dripping into the ever-growing puddle that was hidden _somewhere_ under the mass of mechs and cables. Even for a mech as noise driven as Brawl, it was almost too much. He had been able to stimulate himself to two overloads already just by listening and barely touching his own valve.

Brawl thought Blast Off had tried to drag him into the pile a few times; he vaguely recalled a cable wrapping around his ankle and tugging or rubbing over the rim of his exposed valve before retreating. Or maybe that was someone else's hand. Or both. Either way, Brawl had actually been too out of it from auditory overload to react and had spent the last quarter-cycle in a daze. The Decepticons' entire ordeal seemed to be a lesson in "yes, you really _can_ have too much of a good thing".

Someone _squealed_ , and Brawl was quite certain he fried something as his vision completely glitched for a klik and he threw his head back, slamming it against the wall. Okay - he needed to get out of here. Brawl took a few kliks to orient himself as best as possible before he very carefully stepped around the pile crowding his quarters, mindful of Blast Off's cables - if he stepped on one, the shuttle would force feed him his gun barrel despite Brawl's lack of a mouth - and fled the room.

Unfortunately, fleeing only gave way to a new problem, he realized once the door slid shut behind him and he made his way through the ship to escape the noises still audible through the door. The new problem? He was now hopelessly turned on, dripping all over the floor as his panel had refused to close for the last two orns, and there was quite literally no one in sight. It seemed every Decepticon on board the _Victory_ had either usurped a shuttle's cables or locked himself in his or someone else's quarters to follow the Constructicons' "prescription" of helping one another out. Either that, or they had grabbed one of the devices Long Haul said they made-

Brawl's visor brightened a little. He had forgotten about that in the chaos of noise and cables and fluids invading his quarters. He changed directions and started toward the Constructicons' infirmary. Long Haul said they were for everyone to use, so surely no one would mind if Brawl snagged one to lessen his own charge. It would surely take off the edge long enough to wait out everyone crowding his quarters, and then he could take advantage of Blast Off's cables on his own for a little while. Both sounded very appealing - maybe Onslaught would be back from wherever he disappeared to by then. Vortex was already there. Then, they could call Swindle and just make it a nice, long, combiner reconfiguration time. They had been putting it off for too long before all of this happened, anyway.

Brawl nodded to himself as he entered the infirmary. It was a plan. He would just borrow one of the Constructicons' toys long enough to take the edge off, and-

"You're too late," Scrapper said from one of the corners. "Breakdown got the last one two breems ago."

Brawl deflated and just stared at the other mech, abruptly plummeting from feeling proud of himself to feeling like a hatchling who just had the last energon treat snatched away from him. Of course, staring at Scrapper did not help _at all_ given that the lead Constructicon was currently bent over a table in one of the back corners and facing the doorway while Hook stood behind him and was clearly pumping his fingers in and out of his teammate's valve.

Brawl's own exposed valve tightened at the sight, reminding him of how terribly _empty_ it was, and he let out a very undignified half-groan-half-whine and leaned heavily against the doorway. It was probably that terrible noise which caused Hook's disdainful sneer at Brawl's intrusion to change to one of resigned understanding. Scrapper glanced over his shoulder to this teammate and nodded before he looked back to Brawl and beckoned the frustrated tank closer. Brawl's feet felt incredibly heavy, but after a few half-sparked tries, he managed to close the gap between the entrance and the two Constructicons.

"I'm never going to get the floor sterilized again at this rate," Hook sighed as he pulled lubricant-drenched fingers free of Scrapper's valve and allowed the designer to stand. Brawl blinked blankly at him before he understood and glanced over his shoulder to the trail of lubricant on the floor marking his movement. The door had closed behind him as soon as he vacated the entryway, but he knew the trail extended all the way back to his shared quarters - not that it was new. With everyone constantly leaking, it was a wonder they had not yet given up cleaning any of the floors. The cleaning was certainly not as thorough as it could have been, but it was enough to keep the floors from being slick or tacky.

"It's not like we can help it," Scrapper responded with a helpless shrug. "We'll worry about that once this is all over."

" _If_ it ever _ends_ ," Brawl grumbled. He allowed the two Constructicons to guide him further into the infirmary, into the only private room which was reserved less for privacy or grievously injured mechs than it was reserved for those the Constructicons merely wanted out of their way so they could repair others.

The large medical berth in the center of the room - over-sized so it could accommodate almost any Decepticon aboard the ship - was remarkably clean compared to every other flat surface in the _Victory_ over the last three orns, clean enough that it almost looked unused. The floor around it told a different story, one which painted the image of possibly all six Constructicons atop it in a tangle of limbs, probably many times during the duration of their ordeal. The image alone made Brawl groan again.

"Why aren't you with your team?" Scrapper asked even as he grabbed Brawl by the wrist and tugged him to the berth.

"It got crowded," the tank grumped. "Don't even know where Swindle an' Ons are, but we got invaded by enough of the others to make up for 'em being gone." Both brighter green mechs made a noise of understanding. Hook _had_ warned them about that after Blast Off and Astrotrain's little "announcement".

"Well, seeing as how we're the ones who advised it in the first place, we'll help you out this time," Hook said. "But since you have a perfectly capable and available team of your own and aren't as hard up for assistance as others, don't make a habit of coming here."

Brawl turned to him and started to argue that he had only come to the infirmary in the first place for one of the toys they had mentioned, but he was unable to say even one word before he found hands pressed against his shoulders and was shoved unceremoniously onto the medical berth. He propped himself up on his elbows and glared at the surgeon, snapping, "If I wanted to be mechhandled, I wouldn't have kept kicking Vortex off of me."

Hook just gave him a thoroughly bland look, one hand on his purple hip, the color of which Brawl never noticed before was almost the exact same color as the lubricant steadily leaking from Hook's somehow-still-closed panel. He was _never_ going to look at the surgeon the same way again. "Do you want us to help you or not?" Hook asked to get the tank's attention a little more northward.

"I'm beginning to wonder."

"Both of you stop," came Scrapper's resigned sigh. "We outright said everyone is going to have to help out everyone else, and it would be highly hypocritical of us to exempt ourselves from that order, Hook. Perhaps, if we all quit complaining for a breem or two, we might actually get some _enjoyment_ in addition to relief out of this."

Brawl turned his head to look at the other Constructicon, but whatever he was going to say died in his vocalizer when he saw the rather large...honestly, Brawl was not quite sure _what_ Scrapper was holding, but it was large, vaguely spike-shaped, and it had buttons on it. Buttons were good. Buttons meant _very_ good things. His engine began to growl anew at the same time his valve clenched on itself again. "I thought you said Breakdown got the last one," Brawl said after a few nanokliks of remembering how that thing called "talking" worked. His gaze did not leave the device in Scrapper's hands as he spoke.

"He took the last one we made for everyone _else_ ," Hook corrected as he moved from the front of the berth to join Scrapper at the side, green hands smoothing over his teammate's shoulders as Hook moved behind him.

"This is Long Haul's prototype," Scrapper clarified. "It's one of two we kept for ourselves." He turned it over in his hands, pressing buttons and twisting the base until it began to hum, and the sound alone sent another jolt of need through Brawl's systems. "He and Bonecrusher are currently using the other one, and I'm not willing to let this last one out of my sight. So, we might as well share for now, hmm?" As Scrapper spoke, Hook's hands worked the edge of his alt mode's shovel, lightly pinching and scraping his thumbs over the edge. He followed his teammate when Scrapper stepped forward to join Brawl on the berth.

Brawl had four teammates of his own, two of whom could be very enthusiastic even on a bad orn and the other two of whom could be just as lively if they were caught in or coaxed into the right mood, so he was no stranger to paying attention to more than one partner at a time when it was required. Hook seemed to be rather stand-offish like Blast Off, though - he focused entirely on Scrapper and all but deliberately avoided Brawl, but that was fine. Scrapper was the one holding the toy - smelt Hook. Scrapper was a little more enthusiastic, likely because he had already been getting his "itch" scratched when Brawl barged in. Whatever the reason, it was easy for Brawl to focus on him for the time being, black hands exploring foreign green plating. Any other time, he never would have spared the engineer a second glance; he was just too subdued and amicable for Brawl's taste. Brawl liked his partners feisty and loud, and Scrapper just did not come across as either. Those two traits seemed to be more prevalent in Long Haul and Bonecrusher - especially Bonecrusher. Still, beggars could not be choosers. And Scrapper was still holding that wonderful, humming, buzzing _device_. His type or not, Brawl decided he could not bring himself to care as long as Scrapper did not keep the toy all to himself.

After three orns of constant, unwavering arousal and no one knew how many overloads, foreplay was unnecessary. Brawl still found himself exploring Scrapper, learning the engineer's shape purely out of curiosity, but the curiosity was short-lived, drowned by the ever encroaching _need_. The promise of relief, no matter how temporary, was so close it took only a few kliks for all three of them to lose hold of whatever thin threads of control they had remaining, and curious, exploratory touches turned into fingers digging under plating, tangling in wires, scraping over circuitry, gripping alt mode extremities - anything to get enough leverage to drag the other mech closer.

Brawl decided to the Pit with Hook's haughty attempts to pretend Scrapper was the only one in the room and grabbed him by his crane line and yanked it. With the majority of the spool locked in place, there was only so much slack to be had, and Hook let out an indignant squawk as he was dragged across the berth. His angry protests and vile epithets devolved into a single, helpless groan as Brawl let go of his crane line and reached further down, pressing his fingers against the surgeon's miraculously still-closed panel. Whatever force had been keeping it closed immediately failed the nanoklik Brawl touched it, and as it snapped open, the lubricant which had been trapped behind it flooded out, drenching Brawl's fingers.

If Brawl had to guess, Hook had likely kept his panel shut by sheer desperate force of will in a futile attempt to keep his head just a micron clearer. He had put on airs that he was controlling it better than the others, but Brawl knew otherwise. Despite his posturing, the Constructicon surgeon was no better off than any other Decepticon. So many seemingly endless cycles of having his teammate's fingers, his own fingers, or, smelt it, _anything_ that would _fit_ constantly working in, out, and around his valve had left every single sensor over-sensitized, firing at the slightest shift in air current and _especially_ at the lightest touch. Hook roughly grabbed Brawl's tank barrel to keep himself upright and cried out when the frontliner traced the outer rim of his valve with his fingertips once before plunging two into the dripping opening. His other hand was busy giving the same treatment to Scrapper's as the Constructicon leader lightly rubbed that wonderfully buzzing device against the outer nodes of Brawl's valve.

Brawl wondered idly if it was his imagination or if the isolation ward had a sort of echo chamber effect. Between his own powerful tank engine and the snarling engines of two construction vehicles, the noise was almost deafening, and he was certain anyone outside the infirmary could hear them. He actually had to dial back his audio sensors to prevent the constant roar from damaging them, but even then, the noise was just as dizzying as that which he had fled in his quarters. It did not help that, somehow, he could still hear the roar and whir of their vents and fans as well as the sounds the two Constructicons themselves were making. He honestly would not have pegged Hook to be the whimpering type, but after the first cry, he was almost _quiet_ compared to Scrapper.

Had Brawl's mind been clearer, he might have been amused by the reversal of his expectations, but then Scrapper _shrieked_ , and higher level thoughts became little more than a memory.

Brawl lost track of the events as they transpired from that point. The next time his mind was clear enough for coherent thought, he was lying on his back. One lubricant-coated hand gripped a grey thigh while the fingers of his other hand were still pumping in and out of the valve positioned almost directly over his face and dripping onto his mask. Hook rocked desperately against the tank's fingers where he knelt over him, knees on either side of Brawl's shoulders. Scrapper's own quivering thighs were barely able to hold his aft in the air with Hook's help as his teammate lapped greedily at his valve, his grip tight on the engineer's hips. Scrapper had several kliks ago lost strength in his arms, leaving his upper half helplessly all but draped over Brawl's legs which Brawl spread a little wider as he felt Scrapper begin to press the still thrumming toy into his desperately clenching valve.

Scrapper's concentration was too far gone to move the device with any sort of rhythm, but Brawl was beyond caring - his valve was finally _filled_ , and it was pressing and vibrating against the delicate lining's every sensor in the most glorious way. He would have been perfectly content if Scrapper simply shoved it all the way in and left it there. He rocked his hips against the toy as best he could with the weight of Scrapper's torso pressing him down and tried to tilt his head around to better see the show above him. Hook alternated between simply laving his tongue against the outer edges and just inside Scrapper's valve to delving inside, pressing his face firmly against the plating. Brawl could only imagine the magic worked by Hook's tongue when he did that, but if the noises Scrapper was making were any indication, Brawl's guesses were not far off.

He spread his fingers in Hook's valve to stretch it and rub the sensors inside and groaned at the combination of noises that earned him, a sharp cry muffled by Scrapper's valve and a screech from Scrapper caused by Hook moaning into him. Brawl was further rewarded by Scrapper hitting _something_ on the toy - another button, a combination of buttons; he did not care in the least. Whatever Scrapper did, the vibration strengthened, and the device let off a pulse of magnetic energy which went through the thin lining of his valve and into the circuitry of his pelvic region. The result was the circuitry was temporarily but forcibly _shifted_ in ways it was most definitely _not_ meant to be. Pins scraped against wires, wires pushed into conductor cabling, cabling misfired and sent jolts of excess energy both through his valve and directly to his spark, and Brawl's valve clamped down on the wonderful, amazing device in his valve as his visor's feed glitched and he roared his completion.

Somewhere above him, Hook's own scream was muffled by Scrapper's valve as Brawl's fingers scraped down the inside of his valve as they left it, his hand clenching into a fist in an unconscious reaction to the intensity of his overload. The rough movement threw Hook over the edge as well, and Scrapper was not far behind, his own scream causing Brawl to throw his head back and arch under them as his valve clenched, and he overloaded again.

When Brawl could see again, he had a thoroughly exhausted Constructicon draped over the berth on either side of him. His valve was achingly empty again, but he could not hear the buzz of the toy. Either Scrapper had turned it off, or Brawl had broken it - Primus, he hoped not. He was already trying to think of ways he could get Swindle to bribe Long Haul to make one for him to keep.

Groggily, Brawl lifted his head to look around, but that was all he could bring himself to move. Hook had slumped on his back to Brawl's left, one arm thrown over his visor and his mouth hanging slightly open to aid his vents and fans by drawing in air and expelling heat from his processor and other cranial circuitry. Scrapper was face-down on Brawl's left with his head near the tank's feet, draped over the berth with one arm hanging off the edge. A third flash of green and purple drew Brawl's attention to the still-open doorway.

Three visors and two matching optics stared back, their crimson glow pale and hungry. Long Haul had what Brawl assumed was the second prototype still in-hand and dripping from recent usage. Bonecrusher's panel hung open, his valve still dripping and clenching on itself from a fairly recent overload. Mixmaster's hands curled and uncurled into fists rhythmically as his optics roamed over the mess of lubricants coating the medical berth, and Scavenger leaned heavily against the doorway, one hand gripping the edge while the other pumped his fingers in and out of his own valve.

Brawl exchanged a glance with all four of them then glanced between the two exhausted Constructicons sharing the berth with him. He then glanced further down to the berth itself and asked, "So...what's the weight limit on this thing?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nanoklik - ~1 second  
> klik - 1.2 minutes  
> breem - 8.3 minutes  
> cycle - 2 hours  
> orn - 1 day  
> stellar cycle - 1 year  
> vorn - 83 years

By the fourth orn, the Decepticons had collectively decided there was no possible way to feel any more humiliated than they already did, so they gave up keeping their "treatments" behind the closed doors of any area which might have given some semblance of privacy. Whatever misgivings they had before about looking outside their close acquaintances or team members had been dissolved by the end of the active cycle the previous orn. At the beginning of the fourth orn, several Decepticons had decided it was simply not worth it to leave the commons - the large room had energon dispensers, tables, and chairs of varying comfort levels. It was next to impossible to get any work done anymore, anyway, and why drip all the way back to their quarters when they could trade kliks of relief with one another just as easily without abandoning the most convenient fuel dispenser on the _Victory_?

Besides, Megatron said they could as long as they kept the floor from getting slippery. Or at least kept the mess out of the hallway.

"Whose turn is it to mop?" Dead End muttered from where he was draped strutlessly over one of the tables near the center of the commons. He had hardly moved in the last half-cycle, an arm and a leg half hanging over the edge of the table where he had been abandoned by his last "helper" when the Stunticon's body had finally given out on him. Even now, all he could manage was to groggily lift his head to look around the room to see who else was still present. The sensation of constantly feeling too tired and worn out to even move was very disorienting and mind-numbing, and the fatalistic mech had found himself wondering often the last few orns if this was what it felt like to be on Death's doorstep.

"I believe it's Ramjet's," Bombshell grunted in answer, sprawled similarly at the foot of a chair.

"Slag off!" the seeker in question growled. "I mopped two cycles ago - somebody else do it!" Even if it was his turn, Ramjet was determined not to lose his seat after he finally managed to kick Skywarp out of it even if it was one of the smaller and less comfortable chairs in the room. _A_ chair was better than _no_ chair regardless of comfort level. To lessen the chance of being kicked out, himself, Ramjet had immediately snatched up Kickback upon claiming the seat, and the Insecticon had not complained at all. In fact, Ramjet had noticed Kickback had been within grabbing range...pretty much constantly ever since their tryst in the wash racks the first orn of the Decepticons' ordeal. That it happened on the first or even second orns was coincidence - by the fourth orn, with a very happily squirming and chirping Insecticon in his lap as Ramjet's claws delved in and out of Kickback's entirely-too-lubricated valve, it was a boost to the ego.

"Slag mopping," one of Reflector's components said - his position made it impossible to tell which one. He was stretched across Breakdown's front, his thighs framing the Stunticon's head which allowed Breakdown the perfect position to grip the spy's hips and eagerly lick his exposed valve. That the position also kept Breakdown focused on the task at hand and his mind off of who may or may not have been watching them was simply a bonus. "Deal with it later. Megatron's not here, and it's an - _hn!_ \- e-exercise in futility anyway." Deciding words were hard, Reflector went back to what he was doing.

The height difference between himself and Breakdown meant he could not reach the Stunticon's panel with his own tongue to return the favor and had instead stretched his arm out to trace the outer nodes of Breakdown's valve with one hand and thrust his comparatively smaller fingers of his other hand into the sensitive opening. Of course, that left Reflector's mouth unoccupied which Buzzsaw had been quick to remedy. The cassette was now comfortably settled onto his back with his wings spread over Reflector's outstretched arms while the spy lapped his tiny valve with much enthusiasm.

Dead End groaned and let his head fall back to the table. At this point, he was beginning to wonder how anyone could find such a sight hot. Currently, it only made him _tired_ and wonder why Death had not yet claimed him because it made his already overheated circuits buzz, his too-lubricated valve lubricate even _more_ , and his exhausted body crave to be touched yet again whether he liked it or not. Four orns of endless, burning need was enough to make even the most insatiable mech swear off interfacing for the rest of the vorn. How mechs like Onslaught and Soundwave, who were usually disinterested at most, were managing to cope was anyone's guess.

Dead End did not bother to lift his head when he heard someone approach him. Despite his exhaustion, the need was clawing at his circuits again already. "Give me a cube first," he said with a weak wave of one hand when the newcomer tried to touch him. The footsteps faded for a klik then returned, and a clawed hand grabbed Dead End by the shoulder to hoist him into a sitting position.

"At least we don't have to worry about energon for a change," Thundercracker grumbled as he pushed a cube into the Stunticon's hands. "That's one of the few positive things that have happened lately." No one could argue that point. No Decepticon wished to think how they would have dealt with the situation if this had happened before the completion of the thermal energy project. They had been on rations even before awakening on Earth since the majority of their energon was transported to Cybertron where it could be distributed for the war effort or stockpiled for the post-war reconstruction.

"Indeed." Dead End pressed the cube to his mask and siphoned the energon through it ravenously. He sighed when his HUD informed him it had only raised his power levels to fifty percent. Still, it was better than before. "You let the Constructicons copy your coding?"

"Just came from there," the blue seeker answered. "They still need a few more, and then we should finally have some answers tomorrow."

"It is taking them forever to analyze our codes," Dead End grunted. He had originally thought the Constructicons would have finished copying everyone's core programming the orn they called for it and would use this orn to analyze it.

Thundercracker merely looked down at him, his expression even more bland than usual and rivaling Dead End's own permanently-bland visage. "Have _you_ been able to do much work in the last two orns?"

"Touché." The Stunticon sighed again then reached out to his comrade. "Shall we?"

—

On the fifth orn, the officers reassembled once more. No one commented on his fellow officers' disheveled appearances. No one commented on how Soundwave - stoic, unflappable, proud Soundwave - did not lift his head from his ungainly faceplant on the table until all had assembled who were going to (they were too busy trying not to imitate him). No one commented on the absence of Motormaster, Scavenger, or Bonecrusher. 

Anyone who was going to comment knew he did not have a leg to stand on, even Starscream.

Soundwave had been the first to arrive as usual and had already patched himself into the communications system when the rest of the officers assembled. Once he managed to sit up straight in his seat again, he activated the connection just in time for Hook to speak.

"We have a problem," the surgeon stated needlessly. "We'd already begun to suspect something like this, but we just confirmed it - this is _not_ natural." With an irritated tap on his data pad which may have broken the screen had he the energy to use the required strength, Hook used the holographic array of the table to bring up a screen of code for all in the room to see. "This is a copy of the source code of the thermal collector's schematic." He ignored the confused glances he earned and continued to tap at his data pad. They would see why he was talking about that and not their endless heat cycle in a nanoklik. "This file was hidden in the schematic," Hook continued. A single line of code in the hologram was highlighted.

     >> **rabbit.obj**

"This file has also appeared in all copies we made of every Decepticon's core programming. _Everyone_ 's. The only way this could have happened was when we all downloaded the schematic for the build project last month." Hook let the other Decepticons register that information before he finally clarified, "We've been infected with a virus."

The response was actually quicker than he anticipated as everyone, even those with the most heat-clouded processors in their ranks, heard his proclamation and almost immediately began talking all at once in an enraged uproar.

"A _virus_?! How did we contract a _virus_?!"

< _What kind of human-made virus can infect **our** systems?!_ >

< _You just updated our definitions two months ago!_ >

< _Frenzy, you slag-sucking excuse for a hacker—_ >

"-refuse to believe I have a frelling virus-"

< _—gonna **kill** you, Frenzy—_ >

"Enough!" Megatron bellowed, and everyone begrudgingly fell silent. Once he was certain no one was going to attempt to speak over him, Megatron glared at Hook and growled, "Human-made viruses are inferior to our coding and virus software. How did this one make it past our firewalls?"

"Additional concerns," Soundwave spoke. "Interfacing systems: assumed unknown to humans. Heat cycle: previously assumed not known to humans. Heat cycle: previously unknown to most _Decepticons_. Odds of humans successfully coding virus' specific target less than .0001 percent."

"He has a point," Starscream reluctantly admitted. "The heat cycle code is a rather specific line to target, and though they may be stupid, I highly doubt even the Autobots were stupid enough to allow humans to look at their core programming enough to find this code. Even if they _were_ that stupid, what are the odds of the humans figuring out exactly what this line _does_ and understanding it well enough to attack it specifically?"

"Remote to non-existent," Scrapper answered. "As you have all said, the humans are simply not capable of targeting our programming so precisely. Even if they _had_ been able to target the reproduction protocol somehow, our attempts over the last five orns should have produced some results. We've had our hands, each other, and the devices we've made—"

"At least," Starscream hissed, "we _would_ have said devices if _someone_ didn't keep _breaking_ them." He glared pointedly to his left. Megatron refused to meet his gaze and instead glared at the wall to his own left.

"— _which_ ," Scrapper continued in an attempt to keep himself from envisioning what Starscream claimed, "is why we believe it may be of _Autobot_ origin. We compared the code of the file hidden in the schematic to the code now hidden in our programming, and they don't match up. The file names have changed - ours is now rabbit. _d_.obj - and the code itself is markedly different from the original."

"It mutated," Long Haul said. "I don't know what the original virus was intended to do - initially, it looked pretty harmless, but none of us is a code specialist. The original virus isn't medical coding, so we can't make bolts nor gears out of it. Whatever it was intended to do, once it hit our programming, it seems it adapted to combat our virus software and firewalls. Once it figured out how to dodge our normal virus purge failsafes, it got into our reproduction protocols and made itself at home. That could be why it took so long to actually affect us. The Autobots have _several_ programmers - we don't doubt they could have devised something like this, especially if they anticipated our raiding that laboratory."

< _Can't we just delete the file?_ > Breakdown asked. < _I mean, if it's not there anymore, won't our programming go back to normal?_ >

< _That ain't how viruses work,_ > Frenzy dared to speak. A few growls sounded over the communications array as many Decepticons blamed him for bringing them the schematic in the first place, but Frenzy gathered his courage to continue, < _The object file might be inert right now because it's already done all the damage it's gonna. It probably changed somethin' in our programmin', somethin' worse than simply flippin' the "heat cycle" switch from "off" to "on". Deletin' it wouldn't fix whatever it already did, an' if it's attached itself to some vital line of code, deletin' it could actually damage somethin'._ >

"Exactly," Hook said. "Which brings up my next subject." He looked to Soundwave and slid his data pad across the table to him. "This is a copy of the source code for the version of the virus we're currently infected with. I need you to send it to Frenzy. He's just a hacker, but right now, he's the closest thing to code specialist we have."

Soundwave glanced down to the pad. "Sending: unnecessary," he stated then reached up to press his eject button, releasing a spluttering, indignant Frenzy into the room. Frenzy's first impulse was to try to escape back into his carrier's chest to hide from those who blamed him for their predicament, but at Soundwave's refusal to open (not to mention the glare Megatron gave him for his cowardice), the black and red cassette bunched up his shoulders in timid defeat and sat down on the table to look at the data pad.

"While he's looking at that, we want to know how the coolants and tranquilizers have been working," Scrapper spoke. "Have there been enough to go around? Do either of them need tweaking in the formula? How much is everyone benefiting from them?"

< _Drag Strip needs a stronger coolant,_ > Motormaster replied. < _His cooling systems are staying overclocked._ > Hook swore - he had forgotten about that. Drag Strip's plating was thicker than the other Stunticons' since his vehicular mode was more fragile comparatively. That, combined with the Stunticons' unique force shielding which allowed them to take more punishment than their wheeled Autobot counterparts, meant he overheated much faster than the others, which was a problem since _everyone_ , even the environment of the _Victory_ itself, was staying at least ten to twenty degrees hotter than normal.

"I'll make a new batch for him," Mixmaster said. "In the meantime, Drag Strip, go outside and stay the water if you need to. That should help."

< _A...Alright,_ > came the weak response.

"Uh oh," Frenzy spoke, and immediately, all attention was back to him.

"I don't want to hear 'uh oh'," Megatron growled. "There will be _no_ 'uh oh's."

"Um...I don't know medic codin', but these lines look like they changed somethin' important," Frenzy said nervously as he highlighted the lines to which he was referring and slid the pad back to Hook. Hook and Scrapper pressed together to look at it for a brief klik before the glow of both their visors blanched.

"What?" Megatron demanded. "What is it?" He gave an impatient growl when Hook held up one finger in a "give us a klik" gesture, but he managed to resist the urge to yell at them to hurry up with an answer. It was a feat in itself that they were able to concentrate enough to comprehend what they were reading already without the distraction of being prodded. As such, Soundwave temporarily muted the incoming audio from the rest of the Decepticon forces to leave the room silent save for the present officers' overworked fans and ventilation systems.

Scrapper's finger hovered over the data pad to mark where he was in the code while Long Haul and Mixmaster joined them in reading. With the problem command identified, he was able to more thoroughly see exactly where it lead, what it modified, and how it was modified. Scrapper heard Long Haul swear behind him then reached up to beckon his teammate for a second pad. < _Give me that copy of the reproduction code we found in the database,_ > the Constructicon leader commanded over his team's private frequency. Since none of them had ever given the code a second thought before the virus had already infected them, they had to rely on an archived sample which was as old and generic as the ancient Autobot Kup. Still, it was a good jumping-off point for comparison.

As the four Constructicons worked, they allowed Frenzy to scoot closer and point out what was definitely the virus' code and what was not. The group was so engrossed in its work, they paid no attention to the remaining officers' impatient twitching as they shifted in their seats from a combination of embarrassment and still-burning need. Megatron squirmed uncomfortably in his own chair as if he might be able to find a spot in his seat that was neither hot nor damp. He looked to his right to find something with which to distract himself from... _everything_ and brightened one optic at Onslaught's almost laughably poor attempt to seem casual as he used one foot to wheel himself in his chair around the table to Soundwave's side. Once there, the Combaticon leader just barely nudged Soundwave's chair with his own, prompting the blue mech to push away from the table just slightly which gave Onslaught enough room to reach over and-

Insight into his officers' private lives Megatron _did not want_. He looked away with a huff of his vents and glared at the wall briefly before his desperate-for-distraction mind made his gaze wander again, and he found it resting on Starscream seated at his right. The seeker was leaning heavily on his elbows with his face hidden in his hands and had been the entire time the Constructicons were conferring. Megatron shifted in his seat once more and glanced over his Second's lithe form briefly-

"Don't even think about it," Starscream grumbled without lifting his head, and Megatron looked away again with another huff.

"This has to be the sneakiest, most under-handed trick the Autobots have ever pulled on us," Scrapper finally spoke while Hook merely repeated several vile and, ultimately, unhelpful epithets. "I'd be impressed if it wasn't so alarming." The engineer lifted his gaze to the others once more. "Removing the object file won't do anything - it will just replicate itself and maybe hide itself better the second time around. That's not even the real problem, though. The _problem_ is it's completely mangled our reproductive code _and_ tangled itself in our core function modules. Without the precise anti-virus patch, attempting to purge the virus will result in any number of problems from cooling system malfunctions to spark support shut-down. Crashes, freezes, corrupted code, you name it."

Hook continued for him, "From what we can tell, simply stopping the heat cycle will make it purge on its own. The problem _there_ is it's put our heat cycle on an infinite loop. Neither time nor repeated overloads are going to stop it the way they should. No matter what we do right now, we won't be able to end it." _That_ earned him a thoroughly unsurprising chorus of unhappy noises both in the room and over Soundwave's now un-muted communications array until Hook raised his voice to speak over them, "Nothing that we _currently_ have at our disposal will work, but there _is_ a cure!"

The Constructicons waited for the cacophony to slowly die down before Long Haul spoke, "The virus has rewritten our heat cycle code to _only_ shut off if two requirements are met. One, we have to overload with a two-way spark link connection active. That's the easy requirement." Easy though it may have been, he did not blame any of the other officers for the faces they made or the way they squirmed in their seats. Spark linkage was an intimate act, and Decepticons just did not _do_ "intimate". It implied a trust on a greater level than any of them had for one another, even teammates. "The not-so-easy requirement is that we have to overload with a spike in our valves and transmetal in our chambers."

Silence fell over the proceedings as that information was slowly absorbed. Since the virus had locked away everyone's spikes, the second requirement was impossible for them to achieve on their own. However, being in heat with no end in sight made working futile. Raiding for energon would simply be humiliating, and fighting the Autobots would be completely out of the question. For all appearances, the Decepticons were completely trapped.

< _If we ever find out who wrote this Pit-spawned virus, I vote we make him an honorary Decepticon,_ > Blast Off said to finally break the silence. < _Because this is the most perverse and brilliantly executed trap I have ever heard of._ >

< _I bet it was Grapple or Hoist getting back at the 'Structies for the whole solar tower thing a few years ago,_ > Wildrider grumbled.

< _Doesn't seem like their style,_ > Dirge retorted. < _My bet's on Ratchet. He always seemed pretty devious to me._ >

< _Hey - all bets go through me!_ > Swindle yelled.

< _Nah, he just throws things,_ > Rumble said, ignoring Swindle. < _I'm thinkin' Perceptor. S'always the quiet ones, y'know._ >

"Shut up!" Megatron snarled before the absent Decepticons' speculation could take over the conversation. "Constructicons, I refuse to accept this - there has to be a way around it. We can _not_ let the Autobots humiliate us this way! It's degrading! It's-"

"...really kind of funny," Starscream muttered with a weak, helpless laugh. He raised his hands in a placating gesture when Megatron glowered at him. "You have to admit we _never_ would have seen something like this coming, and we never would have taken any warnings seriously for something like this if we'd _had_ them. It's not funny, but it _is_. They got us _good_." He did not even try to dodge when Megatron reached over to slap him in the back of his head.

While they squabbled, the Constructicons exchanged several nervous glances as they communed with each other as well as Bonecrusher and Scavenger over their combiner team frequency. Finally, after a brief klik of discussion, Scrapper raised his voice once more to draw the two bickering commanders' attention. "We might be able to crack open someone's panel," he offered. "Surgically remove the panel itself and force the spike to extend. If we can get just _one_ Decepticon capable of extending his spike, we can salvage our situation. We'll need a volunteer, though - it probably won't be pleasant since the virus is going to fight it."

Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave, and Onslaught each looked at one another as an uncertain silence fell over the sound system. While they were all desperate to fix their "ailment", the idea of "cracking" open their panels was rather worrisome, especially combined with overactive imaginations conjuring images of what the Constructicons might have to do in order to force their spikes to extend.

"We could randomize it like we did the rest cycle," Onslaught offered after an uncomfortable klik of quiet.

Megatron hesitated, considering for one more nanoklik before he nodded to Soundwave to do so and commanded, "Constructicons, go make the necessary preparations and commence as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir!" The Constructicons quickly gathered their data pads and shakily pushed themselves out of their seats to leave. They needed to prepare the infirmary for surgery as well as clear their processors as best they could. To that end, Long Haul said an awkward "um...give us five breems" over his shoulder before he fled the room so he would not have to see the expression of disgust and exasperation on his leader's face.

—

Megatron tapped one finger irritably on the arm of his chair as he glowered at the monitor in front of him and the bright, blinking cursor at the end of the command he had typed almost half a cycle past. He was truly beginning to wonder if the thermal extraction project had been worth the frustration and indignity he and his Decepticons were now enduring. Yes, they now had access to enough quality energy to send the vital energon necessary for fueling the war effort and reconstruction on Cybertron as well as finally, for the first time in several vorns, take themselves off of rations. However, Megatron had to wonder if the price was worth it - five orns of endless arousal and frustration only to discover it was due to a virus. An _Autobot_ -made virus which, for all appearances, was specifically targeted to humiliate the Decepticons even further by forcing them to submit to the devious Autobots (and _frag_ did those two words not belong in the same sentence).

Megatron had at first felt it could not possibly get any worse. Then came the Constructicons' attempt at a work-around.

Starscream said the "randomizer" was fixed. Soundwave denied all such accusations. Onslaught asked Starscream if he really wanted to pass up the chance to top Megatron if the Constructicons' plan _did_ work. Megatron punched both of them. In the end, however, Starscream submitted to the "luck" of the draw if only to try to claim he was a braver mech than Megatron for following through, and he departed the war room to prepare for surgery. That was where Megatron realized their situation actually _could_ , in fact, get worse.

Scrapper had explained what happened, and Megatron wished he had not. Simply imagining it was painful enough without _details_ making the imagery even clearer. The Constructicons had used a combination of clamps and magnets to hold open Starscream's panel and force his spike seal to spiral open, and then, they used a medical override to force his spike to extend. Unfortunately, the virus or the lines of code it had modified activated with a vengeance, and as soon as Starscream's spike extended without the virus' permission, the seal snapped shut once more.

Megatron shuddered, crossed his legs, and tried to shut off his audios as if that alone could make him forget the sound of his Second's piercing scream which, in all likelihood, had been audible by everyone in the entire _Victory_. According to the Constructicons, it had taken a good three breems to stop the bleeding and seal the opening completely thanks to the virus continuing to fight their opening the seal once more so they could repair the damage, and then it took two sedatives to get the now thoroughly emasculated seeker out of shock. The last Megatron saw of Starscream after he was released from the infirmary was the very angry seeker pushing the Chair from the war room to his private quarters with a look on his face that spelled death for anyone who dared say he could not have it. Megatron had decided if the stupid chair was what Starscream wanted as compensation for what he lost, he could fragging well have it. A rather guilty-looking Soundwave had not argued.

So now, Megatron sat in the almost eerily quiet control room of the _Victory_ , glaring at the monitor in front of him and trying to shore up the humility to do what, for all appearances, was now necessary. All he needed to do was execute the command he had input earlier. The only Decepticons who accompanied him were Soundwave and Skywarp who were monitoring energon output, less than half the number of Decepticons usually present. Starscream had declared himself "off duty and anyone who bothered him was going to lose his face", and the others...well, Megatron was quite sure he knew what _they_ were busy doing. He would be busy with that as well if he did not need to be _here_ struggling with his pride, embarrassment, and the unfortunate necessity of getting the Decepticons' predicament _fixed_.

Damn Prime to the Pit for condoning such an underhanded, devious, disgusting, and _far_ -too-successful trick. Blast Off was right - whoever conceived such a vindictive plan was worthy of being a Decepticon, and Megatron had found himself wondering in the past few breems what he could offer to the mastermind once they were "cured" in order to get the mech on _their_ side and avoid this happening again. However, much as Megatron despised admitting it, they needed the cure before he could go about bribing Autobots into switching alliances, whoever it was.

His high grade was on Wheeljack.

Megatron made a rather undignified combination of a growl, a sigh, and what was most definitely _not_ a whine and finally reached forward to hit Enter before he could second-guess himself any longer. Now, all he had to do was sit back and wait for the Autobots to answer. Sit and wait and squirm. Sit and wait and squirm and-

"Skywarp."

"Yes, sir?" the ever-obedient seeker responded immediately.

"Get over here."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nanoklik - ~1 second  
> klik - 1.2 minutes  
> breem - 8.3 minutes  
> cycle - 2 hours  
> orn - 1 day  
> stellar cycle - 1 year  
> vorn - 83 years

It had been a very quiet month for the Autobots, almost disturbingly so. The Decepticons had been laying low ever since their ultimately fruitless attack on Hathren Technologies, something which was not exactly out of the ordinary most of the time, but it was highly unusual for them to be quiet for _this_ long. With each orn, the officers' meetings grew more tense as they exchanged ideas and proposed ever more frightening scenarios as to what Megatron could possibly be plotting. Experience had taught the Autobots that the longer Megatron and his ilk were quiet, the worse the next doomsday device or the more devastating the attack or the bigger the energon raid would be. In the latest meeting, Prowl had announced that this was now the longest the Decepticons had ever been silent since their awakening on Earth. Everyone was on edge.

Scouting and monitor duties were not doubled despite Red Alert's urging as Optimus had finally argued that there was only so much land they could cover and only so far the Aerialbots could fly when on scouting shifts, and doubling that responsibility would only negate the Autobots' attempts to keep themselves from fretting into a manic frenzy. If the Decepticons launched their attack within the scouting area, the Autobots would find them; if not, they had no choice but to rely on their contacts across the world to inform them and hope they could arrive in time to help. However, all officers had agreed to move the Aerialbots across the planet so there would be a contingent of Autobots able to provide assistance should the Decepticons launch their attack in Asia or Africa, and they were scheduled to depart in two more orns.

In order to prepare for the surely incoming storm, Ratchet, Hoist, First Aid, and medic-in-training Swoop had worked overtime in the infirmary. Within the last month, the wait list for repairs, tune-ups, and examinations had dropped from a two-orn turnaround to no wait at all. In fact, the last time Optimus had looked in on them, the medics were having regular poker tournaments rather than working since, frankly, there was no more work to be had. When asked later, Ratchet denied commenting that he actually wished someone would trip just so he could have something to do.

In an attempt to alleviate the tension filling the rest of the _Ark_ , the Autobots as a whole had thrown themselves into the activities which they knew relaxed them. Movie nights in the commons had changed from once a week to nightly, gaming tournaments had been rescheduled to twice a week rather than twice a month, and Prowl and Red Alert had slightly lifted the ban on high grade distilling, much to the delight of the many pseudo-chemists and wannabe brewers in the ranks. Autobots who had not adopted many hobbies during their stay on Earth were now absorbing hobby after hobby like parched dirt absorbed water. The hobbies were not always practical, but they served the purpose of a harmless distraction or, as Blaster discovered upon walking amongst his comrades wearing the oversized ~~socks~~ "antennae warmers" Rewind had knitted for him, even a source of humor for the other Autobots.

Overall, however, the Autobots were just confused as to whether they should be enjoying the lull or dreading what was to come. By the end of the month, the officers had announced for the Autobot fold to keep their guard up and to keep an optic out for suspicious activity but to otherwise try not to let the uncertainty get to them, and the officers themselves were attempting to follow their own advice. They still met every morning and processed incoming reports from the scouts and relevant external feeds, but for the most part, they tried to focus on less strenuous tasks and activities, some of which they had not been able to indulge for quite some time.

"Yes," Optimus sighed to himself, his voice barely a murmur in the darkness of his quarters. "I know I'm dead. It's the fifth time tonight. You don't have to keep reminding me." He tapped one finger irritably and glanced to the side. "How did I even get _in_ there? I could have sworn the entrance was on the north side."

     >> **You are dead**

"I _know_ that, game!" he finally snapped at his screen. "I'm trying to find my body, and where you have my corpse marker _doesn't make sense_!" With a soft growl of his engine, Optimus forced himself to sit back and vent a sigh through his smokestacks to calm himself. Yelling at his monitor was not going to help him find his character's body when he could not remember how he got into the subzone in the first place. Neither was talking to himself, really, but it was either talk to himself or throw the monitor across the room, and Red Alert said he would not budget for yet another new one for two more months. So, Optimus deactivated his optics for a brief klik to rein in his temper and resumed searching for the entrance to the catacombs he knew had to be somewhere nearby.

As stressful as the not-knowing-what-Megatron-is-planning-this-time was, Optimus was _very_ thankful for the downtime. It allowed him to not only finally get the hitch in his shoulder fixed which had been bothering him for well over two Earth years (and did Ratchet ever give him an audio-full when he learned how long Optimus had been keeping _that_ injury from him) but also allowed him to finally catch up on his favorite pastime which he very rarely had the time and opportunity to indulge. He had been following the humans' gaming industry since the Autobots' awakening, and though few of the other officers understood it, they admitted he needed _some_ sort of escape from the pressures of leadership. Even if that escape often had him yelling profanity at his monitor or depleting his gaming budget with replacing monitors or having to commission special controllers which actually fit in his oversized hands. The controller issue had not been a problem for several years as the primary companies finally realized they could save the Autobots the trouble as well as turn a reasonable profit by pre-manufacturing Cybertronian-sized controllers with the release of each new console.

It was the wide variety of games which had initially captured Optimus' attention, and during one of the first major lulls in Decepticon activity shortly after their awakening on Earth, he had attempted to consume every single title and genre he could get his hands on, much to Prowl and Red Alert's chagrin. Every genre was equally fascinating from pipe-sliding plumbers jumping on turtles to little, blue-armored robots fighting crazy, old scientists, from time-traveling teenagers on a quest to kill a planet parasite to gun-slinging heroes defending a barren wasteland which resembled an old Western movie, from hunting ghosts with naught but a camera to fog-filled towns covered in blood and rust. Over the Earthen years, Optimus' obsession had become a source of amusement and endearment to his comrades as he continually caught himself yelling at Trailbreaker to "bubble up" when he meant "use your forcefield" or on the one occasion where he asked Wheeljack, and later tried to pass it off as joking, if the engineer could possibly make a katamari his size.

He was never going to live _that_ one down.

It was actually Optimus' fascination with video games which had influenced others into trying them. Over the development of the industry, the Autobots' gaming population grew to prefer multiplayer online, cooperative, and competitive games they could play with or against each other from _Lemmings_ to _Street Fighter_ to _Halo_. Partly due to having very little time to join his comrades during the now-regularly scheduled gaming nights, but mostly because he could not let go of his nostalgic attachment to the games which had first sparked his obsession, Optimus tended to prefer single-player titles from multiple genres, though he was occasionally joined by Bumblebee, Spike, Jazz, or sometimes Blaster when their off-time matched his own either to play a two-player game or simply watch him play while simultaneously keeping him company.

Optimus had always suspected Bumblebee and Jazz had joined him at first to assess that he was not _so_ distracted by his obsession that he was going to become a liability. Truthfully, he did not blame them - had it not been _he_ they were not-so-covertly spying on, he would have wanted to do the same thing. He _had_ intervened more than a few times with other Autobots' similar and unhealthy Earth-induced obsessions such as Hound's massive but well-cared-for collection of squirrels and Sideswipe's need to race on every single type of road surface on which he could rest his tires. Though their vices seemed harmless at first, it had grown necessary to step in when a portion of Hound's pets escaped and wreaked havoc with the _Ark_ 's electrical systems by chewing through vital wiring, though that was not nearly as bad as Sideswipe's dozen or more near-catastrophic wrecks and pile-ups on civilian roads before the officers put a stop to it.

No, Optimus had not blamed Jazz and Bumblebee for "spying" on him at all those first few Earthen years. A distracted wartime leader was exponentially worse than a fur-covered scout or a dangerously driving soldier. As time went by, however, they saw it was less an obsession and more an odd and certainly not clinically-tested-Ratchet-approved (though he finally did years later) version of therapy for the Prime. What had started as them "conveniently" timing their visits to him when he was about to sit down and enjoy his time off had quickly evolved to outright invitations, and with careful observation, they saw the difference playing made in their leader. Vorns of fatigue and carefully-hidden sadness and not-as-carefully-hidden hopelessness were all but forgotten once he was lost in a game whether it was something as mindless as stacking multi-colored blocks as they fell from the sky or as complex as calculating the trajectory of an infuriated, feathered missile.

Though the reprieve was brief, it provided him the opportunity to forget their seemingly endless war and the constant, choking worry of whether or not he would lose one of his trusted friends and allies in the next battle. For a cycle or two every few orns, Optimus was simply another mech enjoying some time off as he had been before the war started and he became Prime. So, Jazz and Bumblebee, and later Spike and Blaster, eventually moved from observation to full participation. They gave him grief for being too competitive when dropping mines in their way while racing, laughed at him as he ran screaming from an invisible monster in a flooded basement, and, Optimus assumed, alleviated the other officers' worries for his sanity.

Whether their worries really _were_ alleviated or not was irrelevant to him as long as they let him be and continued to follow orders, especially during this inordinately long downtime in Decepticon activity. He still had a massive backlog of console games, but it was not as if those were going anywhere after they had already been purchased. Instead, Optimus had decided to use the lull to catch up on the one online game he allowed himself to indulge. Or, at least, he would if he could _find his body_.

A light flashed at the bottom of his screen, and he moved his cursor down to click on it. "Yes, Red?" he asked to acknowledge the security director's contact.

< _U-Um..._ > Red Alert stammered, and Optimus fought the urge to sigh. The mech sounded on the verge of a nervous breakdown again, and that was a shame since it seemed he had finally been improving and had given into relaxing with the rest of them the last week. < _I have received an incoming communication request for you, sir._ >

When Red Alert paused, Optimus allowed his attention to shift a little more away from his search for his body. "...and? Who is it?"

< _Megatron._ >

That stopped the search entirely. Immediately, all the tension and uncertainty which had been forgotten or subdued for the last month flooded the Prime's systems anew. He could feel the cables of his shoulders tightening and the pulse of his spark increase in response to the sheer thought of Megatron contacting him. The tyrant was probably going to gloat - he had already enacted whatever nefarious plot he had conjured this time, and the Autobots were going to have to hope it was not too late to clean up the mess. Or, as he sometimes did when he was feeling particularly sadistic, perhaps Megatron was going to inform Optimus of his plans with the knowledge that the Autobots would never be in time to stop him. Had he actually been concocting his schemes on Cybertron this whole time? Optimus had asked Ultra Magnus and his team to keep an optic out, but he had not heard anything. Still, it was not out of the realm of possibility.

"Did he say what he wants?" Prime finally asked and inwardly congratulated himself for not allowing his vocalizer to waver from the oppressive feeling of _dread_.

< _N-No, sir,_ > Red Alert answered. Optimus did not blame him at all for his nervousness now. < _But he insists he speak directly to you. In private._ >

In private? While not out of the realm of possibility, it was...unusual to say the least. When Megatron gloated, he usually wanted as big an audience as possible if only so he could relish Optimus' being unable to hide his horror in front of the other Autobots.

Squaring his shoulders to brace himself, Optimus minimized his game so he could call up the visual communication feed. "Patch him through." It took just a few nanokliks for the feed to activate, and he was greeted with a shoulders-up image of his enemy, the deep purple of the _Victory_ behind him. He was a little surprised to note how...disheveled was really the only word for how Megatron appeared, which was _odd_. His finish was dull, the glow of his optics was over-bright, and he looked exhausted even though Optimus could tell he was trying to hide the last point. Primus below, what horrible, dastardly device _had_ the Decepticons been working on all this time?

Megatron opened his mouth to speak, but Optimus cut him off. He would not let Megatron get the first word in - not this time. "This had better be good, Megatron, because my warlock's just two bubbles away from _finally_ being level 90, and there's a portal to Draenor with my name written _all_ over it!"

Megatron's mouth snapped closed again with an audible click as he processed what Optimus said and then tried - and failed, much to Optimus' immature smugness - to _understand_ it. Prime allowed himself a mental fist-pump. After a few nanokliks, Megatron apparently gave up trying to dignify him with a response and quickly replaced his dumbfounded expression with one of indignant anger. Or maybe it was "I stepped in something icky" - it was hard to tell with Megatron, really. He seemed to only have about three expressions, in Optimus' experience.

With no preamble beyond a disgusted scowl either from anger or need of a foot cleaning, Megatron snapped, "I demand the cure for this disgusting ailment you have inflicted upon us, Prime!"

This time, it was Optimus' turn to flicker his optics in puzzlement. He replayed the silver mech's snarl in his memory, but it made no more sense the second time around. In fact, it made even _less_ sense. Cure? Ailment? Finally, Optimus had to admit defeat and ask stupidly, "Um...what?"

Megatron, however, had not waited for the ultimately unhelpful response and instead had continued talking after his initial outburst. "I must admit I am shocked at your gall," he was saying. "I never would have suspected _you_ to condone something _this_ underhanded and perverse! I'm ashamed to admit it, but you would have made a fine Decepticon."

Optimus just stared at the screen, growing more confused by the passing klik. " _What_?" he asked but was still ignored as Megatron's speech devolved from annoyed talking to angry ranting.

"Except even then, no Decepticon under _my_ command would get away with something this disgusting and debasing - I'd kill him myself if he tried! We're above that, and I thought you were too, given how much you preach about freedom of choice and all mechs are equal and whatever other smelt that's clearly a lie—"

Optimus cut him off, raising his voice so he would be heard as he demanded, "Megatron, what are you _talking about_?!"

"The virus, Prime!"

" _What_ virus?!"

"The virus one of your Autobots hid in that data we stole from Hathren Technologies!"

Well, that solved the mystery of whether or not the Decepticons had actually managed to get away with anything in that last raid. The common theory among the officers was "no" beyond a scant few energon cubes since the humans had not reported a database breach. Clearly, they had missed something or neglected to mention it for some reason. Still, that neither excused nor explained Megatron's raving which had resumed as soon as the Prime paused long enough for him to pick up where he left off.

Optimus ignored it this time and instead pressed, "Megatron, _listen_ to me. I honestly have no frelling clue what you're talking about. Doctor Hathren did not report a system breach after your last attack, and we have had absolutely nothing to do with any of the files or experiments conducted at Hathren Technologies. Aside from the battle last month, our only contribution to that laboratory was in designing the building itself so it could stand up to an attack from _you_. So, either cool your circuits and explain what in Primus' name you're talking about, or I'm cutting the connection and going back to leveling my warlock." The silence which fell over the call was uncomfortable, but it was still an improvement over the aimless ranting from before. Prime could see in the tightening of Megatron's expression that he was trying to decide if Optimus was telling the truth, that he really did not understand why the Decepticon leader was so enraged. Optimus gave him a klik to consider his response, blue optics meeting the image of crimson on his monitor.

It was while Megatron was thinking that Prime realized the connection actually was not as quiet as he thought. There was some odd feedback in the audio - muffled muttering and something rubbing against something slick. As Megatron debated with himself, Optimus also noticed he was not _quite_ still wherever he was seated. He was clearly _trying_ to keep what was visible of his upper body still, but Prime could tell he was shifting and twitching in his seat for whatever reason, the glow of his optics glazed slightly, and that noise would not stop. It almost sounded like the times Carly devoured ice cream when she was Sparked with Daniel - wet, messy, and desperate.

"What _is_ that noise?" Prime finally had to ask.

Megatron ignored him as he spoke again, still clearly angry but much more under-control than before. "When we attacked the lab, we brought back a schematic," he explained. "There was a virus hidden in the file which infected us. It's...beyond our ability to purge." That last sentence was nearly spat out as Megatron struggled to admit the Decepticons were simply incapable of something. It was clearly a blow to the mech's pride. "The virus got past our protection software so easily and was targeted at such a specific section of coding, only an Autobot could have written it."

"My Autobots do not write viruses which target mechs," Prime was quick to counter, offended by the accusation. "Some of them may have a crude sense of humor or an unscrupulous way of doing things, but we do _not_ fight that dirty." Forcing himself to dial back his anger, Optimus leaned back a little in his seat and crossed his arms over his windshields. "What block of code did this virus target? Communications? Vital systems?" Megatron twitched, and Prime brightened one optic slightly in confusion at the range of emotions that passed over his enemy's face - anger, revulsion, humiliation, uncertainty. It was equally confusing and intriguing - just what _was_ this virus, and where did it originate?

Megatron muttered a garbled answer that was completely unintelligible, his shoulders bunching slightly in embarrassment and no longer able to fully meet Optimus' gaze. The bizarre behavior might have been funny if the situation were not so tenuous. "What?" Optimus asked since he did not understand him.

"...reproduction," Megatron reluctantly repeated.

Optimus' optics flickered a few times as he stared at his monitor in disbelief. "...what."

"Do not make me say it again," the Decepticon leader hissed.

"...how does that even work?" Optimus was not quite sure he wanted to know, but the question was already out, and it was a valid one. "What did it _do_?"

The noise Megatron made in response was _odd_ , to say the least - a garbled mix of a snarl, a whine, and a...moan? Before Prime could try to fully analyze the combination of noises, Megatron suddenly moved his seat to the side, putting him out of view of the console. The pointed edge of a black wing came into view at the bottom of the screen as it followed and then disappeared with him, and Prime was left looking at nothing but a purple wall for a few kliks. The _noises_ continued, however, and Optimus was helpless to do anything but sit and listen to them with slowly dawning horror as he finally understood exactly _what_ he was hearing.

The realization brought with it the _very_ unwanted _images_. Futilely, the Autobot leader clapped his hands over his optics and shut them off as if he could block the imagery that way. Of course, that meant he heard what was happening just out of sight with even _more_ clarity which, naturally, made the images even more vivid. He heard every swipe of Skywarp's - it had to be Skywarp since the wingtip was black - tongue, every muffled noise the seeker made, every groan Megatron tried to bite back, and the slight creaking had to be the chair as Megatron' bucked his hips into Skywarp's face, and then there was the barely-choked back groan and rattling plating and oh, Primus, Optimus wished he could take a blowtorch to his memory block _right now_.

When he dared to lower his hands from his optics, an exhausted, panting, and somehow even more disheveled Megatron was repositioning himself in front of the screen, leaning heavily against the console as Skywarp passed behind him wiping at his mouth with the back of one purple hand. The Decepticon leader apparently did not even have the energy to be amused by Prime's utterly horrified expression as he merely grumbled to finally answer his rival's question, "Guess."

"I don't want to," Prime squeaked. A hard reboot of his vocalizer made his voice sound a _little_ less traumatized. "I swear, Megatron, if this is some sort of crude joke..."

"I would _not_ joke about this!" Megatron roared and slammed a fist down on the console which caused the image to jitter for a nanoklik. "Having our heat cycles permanently switched on is _not_ funny in the slightest, and I _demand_ the anti-virus, Prime!"

At the renewed accusation, the Autobot leader was finally able to tear himself away from his mortification. He rebooted his vocalizer again and straightened in his seat as he responded firmly, "Megatron, I don't know where the virus came from or how it targeted such a specific subsystem, but we had nothing to do with it. I—" One word in particular suddenly registered. "Wait - _permanently_?"

"Yes," the silver mech growled. "According to the Constructicons, the virus has rewritten our reproductive code so the heat cycle will not shut off unless we're..." He choked on the next words but managed to say them. "... _taken_ by another mech."

Optimus paused as he processed that. If that was all, then the Decepticons _should_ have been able to remedy their situation on their own by now, except... "And I assume there's a reason you can't handle it on your own."

He was actually beginning to feel a twinge of pity for his rival as Megatron squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, warring with his humiliation and pride to answer, "The virus has locked away our spikes." He grimaced. "Do _not_ make me describe what happened when we tried to override it."

Prime shut off his optics and raised a hand to drag it down his face as the remaining pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The Decepticons were unable to spike one another which meant they would be forced to turn to the Autobots. Forced to _submit_ to their enemies. If this was the work of one of his Autobots, it was really no different than if the culprit had restrained a Decepticon and forced himself on him. Primus. "If one of my Autobots _did_ orchestrate this, I promise you he will be _severely_ punished," Optimus said gravely. He vented his system and briefly glanced to the ceiling to think before he met Megatron's gaze once more. "Okay. I need to discuss this with my officers, especially Ratchet, so we can figure out what options lie before us for fixing it. I'll call a meeting now, so give me..." He checked his chronometer. "Two cycles, max, and I'll contact you again with more information on this same frequency." Megatron glowered, clearly unhappy about being forced to wait, but he nodded in agreement before Optimus continued, "However, until we figure out how to fix this, I want your word that we are in an official ceasefire."

Megatron snorted. "As if we've been able to think of anything other than sticking our afts into the air for the last week." His scowl finally shifted to a small half-grin when Prime cringed at the image. "Two cycles, Prime. I'll be waiting." He looked to his right and barked, "Skywarp! Get back over here!" Mercifully, the connection severed as Optimus groaned in embarrassment.

He sighed and rubbed his face again. This was going to be one Pit of a problem to explain. He hoped to Primus that his Autobots were innocent of any involvement in such a nefarious scheme, but he could certainly understand now why Megatron assumed it was their doing. The reproduction system was one of their most carefully guarded secrets - only Sparkplug, Carly, and Chip knew anything of it because they had been trained as emergency back-up medics. There had been too many occasions where the Autobots' full and field medics were either unable to perform or simply overwhelmed, and the humans' tiny hands had become a valuable asset for delicate repairs. Thus, it had become necessary to train the three smartest and most compassionate of their organic friends. However, they were sworn to secrecy - not even Spike was privy to the details despite his marriage to Carly, and Primus had it been difficult those first few Earthen years to _keep_ it a secret from him given his unfortunate name. Several Autobots _still_ could not talk to or mention him by name without struggling to keep a straight face, and some insisted upon calling him by his middle moniker of Sam.

Still, it was a fiercely guarded secret. Too many fanatical groups or government organizations among the humans would have jumped at the chance to use such information against them. It was bad enough that they understood Cybertronians felt pain. If they discovered their reproductive systems, even more groups would attempt to capture them for experimentation or to try duplicating them and their technology. No, there was no conceivable way the humans of Hathren Technologies could have coded a virus specifically targeted to a system they should have known nothing about...but the thought of one of his Autobots - one of his _friends_ \- orchestrating such a debasing scheme made Optimus' fuel tank churn.

His gaze flicked to his minimized game, and he sighed through his smokestacks. Level ninety would have to wait. He had an emergency officers meeting to assemble.

—

Over the vorns of war, Autobot officers had grown very accustomed to being called to emergency briefings for any number of reasons at any possible time. They were accustomed to dropping what they were doing no matter its importance or relevance and assembling as quickly as possible, and each officer had a background program designed to forcibly bring him online if he was in recharge. Whatever the reason for being called to assemble, they were all ready and on-point, prepared to deal with, analyze, or rectify the reason for being called. Typically, especially since their awakening on Earth, the reason had something to do with the Decepticons. That "something" was usually some sort of doomsday device, dastardly plan, catastrophic attack, or other Decepticon-caused global crisis.

That was not the case tonight.

"...what," Ratchet deadpanned.

"Please don't make me repeat it," Optimus all but whimpered, his face buried in his hands. The remaining officers were staring at him with equally dumbfounded and gaping expressions, and he certainly did not blame them. Had Optimus not seen the evidence for himself - Primus, how was he ever going to look Megatron in the optic again after that? - he would have refused to believe such a situation to be true as well.

"...I really wanna laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of their problem, but if it _did_ stem from one of ours, it ain't a laughin' matter," Ironhide finally said to break the awkward silence. "Sounds more like somethin' they'd do to _us_."

"I must disagree there," Prowl responded. "While the Decepticons as a whole are generally coarse-natured and unscrupulous, all evidence even from the worst parts of the war suggests that the majority of them are above such uncivilized cruelty. There were exceptions, of course, but I cannot recall any reports of non-consensual affairs in the files of anyone aboard the _Victory_ , toward Autobots or each other."

"Agreed," Red Alert said. "While my...higher reasoning skills were compromised for the majority of the Negavator incident, my memory of it is clear, and never once did Starscream attempt anything so depraved, nor do I believe he hinted he even wished to. And he _certainly_ had plenty of opportunity to try."

"'Ya'd think _we_ 'd be above this too, though," Blaster pointed out. "At least, those of us here on Earth. But Buckethead's got a good point - there's no way the humans should know 'bout this part of our anatomy or codin'. I don't like it any more than the rest of 'ya, but so far, all signs are pointin' to this startin' here."

Wheeljack spoke, "The problem is it sounds like the virus required pretty advanced coding skills to write given the systems it's affected. I can count on one hand how many Autobots on Earth have the kind of programming knowledge required to pull off something like this, and three of 'em are in this room - Ratchet, Red, and yours truly."

Ratchet nodded in agreement as he added, "And the other two are Hoist, who I know better than most mechs and firmly believe would never do this, and Rewind." He looked to Blaster who shook his head.

"Rewind ain't like that," the communications officer was quick to assure. "Ain't even interested in 'facin' for the most part, not even with Eject. He'd rather curl up with a book."

Prowl tapped one finger against the table as he thought out loud, "The next most talented coders are Bumblebee, Perceptor, Blaster, First Aid, and Jazz."

Blaster shook his head again. "I just do comm systems. I don't do any other code language."

"'Aid's a pacifist," Ratchet said with a frown. "He'd be horrified even being mentioned in this sick equation. And while Perceptor has the required knowledge, he doesn't do much in the way of programming; he's more focused on biological science."

Prowl nodded. "Bumblebee is a hacker and _has_ written some fairly devastating viruses before, but they were all coded for databases and weapons systems, not designed to infect _mechs_. Correct?" He looked to Jazz for confirmation who nodded.

"An' if you even think of accusin' me, I'm puttin' glue in your energon again," the saboteur said levelly.

"I wasn't going to," Prowl responded calmly.

"Nobody else, as far as I'm aware, has the skill required in this field to pull this off," Wheeljack spoke again. "It's possible we're mistaken and there _is_ another hacker hidden in our midst, but I find it unlikely."

Optimus folded his hands together on the table in front of him and asked, "With all of this in mind, does anyone believe it's possible for a human-made virus to have _accidentally_ targeted this system?"

Wheeljack rubbed his mask thoughtfully for a brief klik before he responded, "... _possible_. _Extremely_ unlikely, but possible. Nobody but Carly, Sparkplug, and Chip know what our core code looks like...could be the virus was intended for regular computer systems. If the 'Cons hook up to their computers over a hardline, it could have jumped."

"Except, if that's the case, how did it get past Cybertronian-standard firewalls and virus protection software?" Ratchet asked.

Wheeljack shrugged. "I'd have to see the virus itself." He looked to Optimus. "Where did Megatron say it came from? Hathren Technologies?"

Optimus nodded. "He said it was hidden in some data they copied during their attack." His optics flickered slightly when Blaster looked up sharply in response to his comment.

"Copied data?" the spark-splitter asked. "They stole some files from there?" At Optimus' nod, Blaster frowned. "Rewind said he heard somethin' when he was cleanin' up. Said he heard one of the scientists say...what was it...'They took the bait'? I think that was it."

"Bait?" Ironhide scowled. "Sounds pretty suspicious ta me. 'Ya really think this thing was human-made?"

"It's beginning to sound like it," Red Alert muttered. "Blaster, what else did Rewind overhear?"

"Just a klik." Blaster went silent as he contacted his mechlet, and after a few kliks, he shook his head again. "He didn't hear much - he was tryin' not to be nosy." He gave his fellow officers a sheepish look. "I keep gettin' onto him 'bout that, so he was tryin' ta be good. But he says he heard two of 'em talkin'. One said, 'They took the bait', an' then they said somethin' about wishin' they could see 'it' once 'it activates' and that 'it' would 'just buy 'em some time'."

"That's all but confirmation, there..." Jazz growled. "How in smelt did they manage it? We've only been involved with 'em a few months, and most of that was jus' to help build their fraggin' lab!"

"Let's try not to get angry with them until we've figured out the entire story," Optimus said in an attempt to calm his Third. "However unlikely, as Wheeljack said, it could have been an accident. We need to contact them and see how forthcoming with the full story Doctor Hathren is. I'd like you to send Bumblebee to do that first thing in morning - he's personable enough that they may open up to him without issue, and if they _do_ try to dodge around it, he has permission to get answers in more unconventional ways."

"You got it, Boss 'Bot."

"Meanwhile," Optimus continued as he turned to Ratchet, "there's an entire ship filled with Cybertronians who have been in an unending heat cycle for an entire week. What can they expect?"

"Primus," Ratchet muttered. He rubbed his chevron as he mulled over his answer and parsed his thoughts. "The problems this is going to cause in their bodies are many. Probably the most innocuous is over-stretching or tearing of their valve linings - an easy replacement. If they've been staying fueled, they should have no problem keeping their lubricant reservoirs from running dry." Ratchet's frown deepened. "The most dangerous side-effect, however, is overheating. That's going to cause any number of problems, especially as it continues - scorched circuits, melted wiring, broken vent fans...they'll start having hardware errors and short-outs, chronometer shut-down, loss of sight and hearing..." He shook his head gravely. "I've seen all of these symptoms in mechs who let a heat cycle go too long before the war, but I don't believe any of them had it last _this_ long. That's not even going into the psychological issues if their cranial circuitry starts overheating. At worst, the heat may reach such a high temperature that it ignites the fluids in their lines - lubricants, oil, even their energon itself." Ratchet moved his gaze firmly to Optimus. "Now, all of this is worst case scenario. I assume they've implemented ways of cooling down, of course, since you say Megatron seemed to be perfectly coherent, if...distracted."

"Being as deep underwater as they are would help," Wheeljack added. "The water down there's cold enough to keep the _Victory_ itself from overheating around them from all the heat they're letting off, and they can probably go stand out in the ocean for a while to cool down. Probably not the most _pleasant_ thing they'll ever experience, but better than overheating to death."

Optimus dimmed his optics as he looked down at his folded hands. That was the word he did not want to hear. "That's what it comes down to, isn't it?" he had to ask. "If they are not cured, this will kill them."

"Not for quite a while as long as they manage to stay sufficiently cooled," Ratchet answered. "But...I can't say if their sanity will last as long as their bodies. Can I safely assume everyone in this room has been through at least one heat cycle?" He looked around the room to confirm his suspicion and was not surprised as every mech present nodded. All were old enough to have been of age before the war began, and few held occupations stressful enough to keep the code constantly dormant. "Then you remember the need. You remember the desperation. You remember being unable to think about anything else. How long did it last with you?" All the officers muttered varying answers, but the longest he heard was "three orns". "Try to imagine a week," Ratchet said softly. "...now, try to imagine a _month_." The room fell silent for a long klik as mechs exchanged uncomfortable glances or merely stared down in their laps.

It was Ironhide who finally broke the silence with a growl, "If Hathren did this on purpose, I'll squish 'im myself. We may be at war - we've all done things we regret. We've all done things we'll never forgive ourselves for. But _this_? Not even they deserve _this_."

Optimus' voice was soft as he spoke again, "And that's the point, isn't it?" He did not look up from his still-folded hands when his friends looked to him. "We're at war. We've been at war longer than most of the humans can imagine. Thousands of years in their time - hundreds of vorns in ours. Who knows how long this war may continue on? Thousands of vorns? Millions of years? Who knows how many more lives will be lost? If we weren't at war, this may never have happened to them."

Each officer exchanged a confused and wary glance with the others, none sure how to respond to their Prime's words. It was Prowl who finally said slowly, "Optimus. Are you...suggesting we leave them to their fate? To end the war?"

"No," Prime quickly answered. "Of course not. But..." As the other officers' shoulders slumped slightly in relief, Prime looked to Ratchet and Wheeljack. "Can you code an anti-virus? Can you cure them?"

The head medic and chief engineer exchanged an uncertain glance before Ratchet met his Prime's gaze and answered, "I honestly don't know yet. I need to see both the virus and their coding. I need to see exactly what it's done and run some tests. I...I would _think_ so, but I won't know until I _see_ it exactly what code hoops we're going to have to jump through to write an anti-virus."

"And...as much as I hate to bring it up," Wheeljack sighed, "even if we can't code an anti-virus, we can still cure them the old-fashioned way. Megatron said that avenue was still open, just not for them to use on each other."

Optimus nodded and lowered his gaze to his hands once more, rubbing one thumb with the other in thought. His officers remained silent for a few kliks, knowledgeable of their leader's need to get his thoughts in order before he let them know what he was pondering. Red Alert and Ironhide shifted uncomfortably in their seats, trying to focus on how quickly Prime denied Prowl's question of leaving the Decepticons to die or go insane from the virus. Their leader was a better mech than that. They all knew it, and Prowl felt badly for assuming otherwise.

Finally, Prime spoke again, "I'm going to contact Megatron and tell him we'll help him." He lifted his head to look at his comrades. "But the price for our assistance is the end of this war. We will negotiate a peace treaty in exchange for curing the Decepticons."

The other seven mechs stared at him, gaping - those who were capable of it. None were certain what Prime was going to say, but _that_ was _not_ it. The idea that their leader would force their enemies into anything, even a desperately-wanted peace treaty, in exchange for their lives was shocking, and Ratchet said as much when he was able to find his voice, "Optimus, that's...under-handed. That's almost cruel—"

"That's _strategy_ ," the Prime countered firmly. "That's stopping the destruction, stopping the _killing_ , stopping Hound and Bluestreak's constant nightmares, stopping the damage we're doing to not only our own planet but _this_ one as well!" He forced himself to pause and draw a cooling ventilation so he could continue more calmly. "This war has gone on long enough - too long. Can _any_ of you say you firmly believe an end is in sight _without_ this?"

He let them consider his words in silence for a klik. Ironhide was the first to nod. "He's right," the red mech said softly. "This is probably our only chance for endin' this once an' for all without costin' more lives. It started with Sentinel Prime, with a corrupt government that collapsed a long time ago, an' both our sides have been too stubborn ta admit defeat."

"You were made Prime in wartime," Prowl spoke. "Before the Senate collapsed and when they were focusing on razing the Decepticons, their supporters, and their cities in an attempt to force their surrender."

"And I'm not asking them to _surrender_ ," Optimus pointed out calmly. "We will _negotiate_. Every one of us, both factions, are responsible for starting this war _and_ for dragging it out as long as we have. _None_ of us have clean hands or consciences. There has to be a middle ground somewhere we can reach to stop the violence so we can go home and rebuild what we've lost." All around the table, heads nodded as, slowly, the seven officers agreed with their leader.

"If he agrees, have Megatron send someone here, and we'll see what we can do," Ratchet said. "We need a copy of the virus they're currently carrying, a copy of their core code, and a copy of the file that had the original virus just in case the two are different somehow."

"And I'll still have 'Bee go over to Hathren and see what's goin' on," Jazz added. "I don't wanna believe they discovered how to do this on their own, but we need ta find out how it happened and if they're really on our side before they aim somethin' even worse at _us_."

"Good." Optimus looked to each one of his officers, his friends, friends he finally, for the first time in far too long, felt hopeful that he might be able to stop worrying he would lose one orn. "Does anyone have any questions? Is _anyone_ opposed to this? If so, speak now because as soon as I leave here, I'm contacting Megatron again." He waited two kliks but received only grimly determined expressions in exchange. Whatever objections any of them may still have housed, the idea of peace without any more bloodshed was too appealing.

Prime nodded and stood. "Dismissed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious, and because I'm a geek, these are the games in order of mention:
> 
> \- World of Warcraft (Will Prime ever find his body? The Magic 8-Ball is uncertain. Also, the "bubble up" reference)  
>  \- Any Super Mario (pipe-sliding plumbers)  
>  \- Any classic Rockman/Mega Man (blue-armored robot)  
>  \- Chrono Trigger (time-traveling teenagers)  
>  \- Wild ARMs (gun-slinging heroes in a wasteland (my personal favorite RPG))  
>  \- Fatal Frame (hunting ghosts with only a camera)  
>  \- Silent Hill (fog-filled town covered in blood and rust)  
>  \- Katamari Damacy (self-explanatory)  
>  \- Tetris (stacking blocks)  
>  \- Angry Birds (furious feathered missiles!)  
>  \- Mario Kart (dropping mines while racing)  
>  \- Amnesia: The Dark Descent (invisible monster in a flooded basement)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nanoklik - ~1 second  
> klik - 1.2 minutes  
> breem - 8.3 minutes  
> cycle - 2 hours  
> orn - 1 day  
> stellar cycle - 1 year  
> vorn - 83 years

The _Victory_ was quieter than it had been the last week as most of the afflicted Decepticons had either locked themselves away in one another's quarters for individual attention rather than the last few orns of "group therapy" or were too exhausted to be bothered either way, at least for the next few cycles. Most teams had isolated themselves to make some attempt at recovery or to simply reinstate "combiner team bonding time" without the interference of outsiders. Since his unfortunate "accident", Starscream had not been witnessed to emerge from his quarters more often than to retrieve a few energon cubes or flasks of coolant, and sheepish attempts to ascertain his condition and how he was coping with the aftermath of said "accident" were met only with malevolent glares or brandished claws. After the fourth threat of bodily harm, most of his comrades quit asking and came to an unspoken agreement to give him another orn or two to "simmer down".

As for the rest of the Decepticons, they merely continued "business as normal", as far as "normal" went anymore. What work which existed was completed in a lengthy, round-about, but still _mostly_ thorough manner - monitors were watched, energon output from the thermal extractor was documented (and promptly consumed), repairs were made both to mech and ship wherever possible, and when the Decepticons were not trying to work, they were trying to relieve their endless "itch". The officers had noted throughout the week that productivity had steadily been declining as concentrating on tasks more important than fragging one another's processors offline became more and more difficult, but they were still managing fairly well thus far. Another week, however, and they agreed that even the most diligent among them were going to have a hard time caring about anything but eating, recharging, and clanging.

Megatron had been exercising great self-control the past week, but even his patience only lasted so long, especially once he had received Optimus' ultimatum two orns past.

At first, the Decepticon leader had been enraged at the Prime's audacity. How _dare_ he try to coerce his enemies into giving up in exchange for help when, in their conversation before Optimus met with his officers, he had acted offended and even borderline disgusted by the Decepticons' degrading situation. He acted as if the Autobots were simply going to discuss what would be necessary to fix them, and then he came back demanding they lay down arms permanently in exchange for aid. Megatron had been so taken aback and offended by the suggestion, he had immediately terminated the connection and resolved to find another way. The Decepticons were _not_ helpless. They could send for a true medic - a _Decepticon_ medic - or hacker from Cybertron or at least a handful of mechs with workable spikes to frag them until they were finally capable of thinking for themselves once more.

At least, they could if Shockwave would answer. And he had not. In fact, the entire Decepticon communication system between Earth and Cybertron was down for unknown reasons. It had been nearly an Earth month since the Decepticons had last heard from Cybertron, and the silence was beginning to grow worrying. Shockwave had informed Megatron during the last communique that Autobot forces were amassing on the Polyhexian border and had been for a while. He had not expressed any concern for his ability to defend against a possible attack, but the silence afterward spoke volumes. Megatron knew the Wreckers had returned planetside after defending the Moon Bases for the last few vorns, and while they could be routed somewhat reliably with Shockwave's small army of Guardian drones and his small but capable squadron of seekers, the Decepticon leader was reluctant to admit he was not certain Shockwave's tower in Polyhex could withstand a full-scale assault from the Wreckers, the remaining forces from the Iacon War Academy, _and_ Ultra Magnus' squadron from Altihex. The latter two, last Megatron knew, had positioned themselves on opposite sides of Polyhex, and if the Wreckers came in on a third side...Shockwave was good. He was perfectly capable of holding the city for a while, but it would not be easy against such a powerful assault.

And the silence was deafening.

Even more frustrating was the fact that Megatron could not even send one of his Earthbound soldiers through the space bridge to check on the situation. Their condition meant they were begging to be captured - almost literally, since capture in their state would probably expedite their "cure". Not every Autobot would be able to resist exploiting the situation, especially some of the Wreckers if their reputation was to be believed at all, just as Megatron was reluctant to admit not every Decepticon would have managed to resist had the situation been reversed. Those on Earth, likely, but it was not completely certain. There were crossed wires in any group - Whirl, Vortex, Blades, Airachnid if she was even still alive...actually, maybe it was just a thing with rotaries that made them a little more morally ambiguous than the rest. Or crazy. "Crazy" seemed to be a common description for the rotary mechs Megatron knew by name.

Regardless, communications between Cybertron and Earth were down for who knew how long, and no one was quite certain how to fix that issue. Before the _Ark_ and the _Nemesis_ had departed Cybertron, Shockwave's tower in Polyhex had not been the only Decepticon communications hub - before, they had also possessed a comparable antenna array in Tesarus and an even better array on Moon Base One. However, _after_ Megatron had left the Decepticon-controlled sectors of the planet in Shockwave's capable hand, the Autobots had apparently become quite ruthless in Megatron and Optimus' absence - uncharacteristically ruthless. Starscream's theory behind the sudden increase in aggression and coordination had been a toss-up between several possibilities: either the Autobots had lashed out in fear now that their Prime was lost in space and presumed dead, they felt they finally stood a chance against the Decepticons with Megatron off-world and also presumed dead, or they no longer felt confined by Optimus' self-righteous sense of morals and felt they were "safe" to fight as dirty as their enemies. Starscream had later amended his theory to, "Probably a combination of all three."

No matter what had happened to the Cybertron-bound Autobots to grant them the confidence, coordination, and ferocity they lacked before, once the _Ark_ and _Nemesis_ lost contact with Cybertron after launch, the Autobots had wasted no time in turning the tide of the war in their favor. The tower in Tesarus had been leveled completely, and Moon Base One had been captured by the Autobots, all within the first vorn of the two faction leaders' absence. As time went on and the two sides eventually learned the crews of the two ships had _not_ been lost to the stars and were _not_ dead, the situation on Cybertron had steadily ground to its customary stalemate.

Still, Shockwave's tower now possessed the only antennae large enough to reliably send and receive signals over such a great distance even if Soundwave boosted the _Victory_ 's signal to the best of his ability, which was why there was only one space bridge on Cybertron - it _needed_ a strong communications array to prevent anyone and anything traveling through it from being lost to the reaches of space. Thus, even if the Earthbound contingent had not been otherwise compromised, traveling via the space bridge was now incredibly dangerous, if not fatal, unless communication could be reestablished. There was still the old-fashioned way of sending Astrotrain and a small team to Cybertron through space, but even fully-fueled, at his top speed, and flying in a straight shot with no side-trips, it still took Astrotrain the better part of twenty orns to fly from Earth to Cybertron. The Decepticons on Earth simply could not suffer that long, and even if they could, that still did not solve the problem of communication.

Someone had proposed abducting a few Autobots from the _Ark_ and making them "cure" them, but it had ultimately been decided that, even if they could bring themselves to force a captive Autobot or two into assisting them, the Autobots were on-guard by now and were probably _expecting_ such an attempt. As distracted and uncoordinated as the Decepticons were as a whole now, their chances of succeeding to capture even a minibot were remote at best. It was only after the idea was shot down initially that Scrapper had finally admitted he had learned that the virus was coded in a way that they still would not have control over extending their spikes for at least a few weeks after it was purged. This meant even the most optimistic "let's get one of us fixed, and then he can fix the rest of us" idea was doomed to failure from the start. Starscream had _not_ been happy to hear that little detail - had Scrapper discovered it earlier, the seeker would have been spared a lot of pain and humiliation.

Megatron hated being backed into a corner. He hated it when he worked the energon mines under Protihex, he hated it when he fought as a gladiator in the pits of Kaon, and he especially hated it now when his choices of action boiled down to "take an unnecessary risk with the space bridge", "take an unnecessary risk _and_ a small eternity with interstellar travel", "surrender to our enemies", or "go insane". He had refused to dignify the Prime with an answer for two orns and had not even mentioned Optimus' ultimatum to his officers, especially not to the rest of his soldiers. Soundwave and Skywarp, the only two to overhear the conversation, had been sworn to secrecy so Megatron could take his time considering all his options. He was determined to think of more alternatives - _any_ more alternatives - even if it took another week.

At least, that was his plan until today.

Megatron paused as he rounded a corner. He had to pass by the Constructicons' infirmary to get to the war room, and that meant passing by the small group of mechs huddled on the floor as they sat outside the closed medbay doors and awaited news, good or bad. The wait had begun almost three cycles ago, and it would continue until the Constructicons were finished. Not even Megatron was privy to the fate of the mech currently in surgery. Hook had expressed concern that this would happen given the patient's propensity for overheating even before being infected with the virus, but no one had anticipated the severity of the mech's condition.

Drag Strip had collapsed at the start of his shift in the observatory. Megatron had not been present, but Reflector reported that the easily overheated Stunticon had literally been smoking from every vent and gap in his plating, and the corridors still smelled of scorched and melted plastics from his transport from the observatory to the medbay. Even suspecting it would happen, even _knowing_ the possibility grew with every orn, no one had suspected Drag Strip would succumb to the heat _this_ severely. The Constructicons had wasted no time in locking the medbay doors and had shut off their communications systems entirely so they could concentrate on keeping the critical mech alive. Not even Megatron's request pings for status reports were answered.

Megatron and other onlookers had resumed their duties in order to focus on anything but Drag Strip's uncertain fate, but Breakdown, Dead End, Wildrider, and Motormaster had not budged from where they sat across from the medbay doors waiting, worrying, staring for the last nearly three cycles. Two sat in puddles but paid the mess no heed. For now, everything, even their condition, was forgotten as they awaited word on whether or not Drag Strip could be saved. Normally, they could have used their combiner link to stay aware of his status, but even that had begun to suffer as the Decepticons' never-ending communal heat cycle continued and worsened. So focused were they on the closed doors and willing them to open, not one of them acknowledged their leader as Megatron passed them. He was not green and purple - he could not tell them if their teammate would live or die. Thus, he did not matter.

Motormaster, Dead End, and Wildrider had been together for as long as Megatron could remember. Whether they were related or simply partners, he never knew and never presumed to ask as it had never seemed relevant. He first met them in the pits of Kaon when Motormaster fancied himself a decent gladiator. He was wrong, but Megatron had witnessed the potential in all three of them and had later called upon them when the uprising began. By then, they had added Breakdown and Drag Strip to their team - or, perhaps, they had always been in the background, hidden in Motormaster's shadow. Throughout the war, the five had been inseparable.

Never before now had Megatron been curious enough to care how they had met each other. Related? Perhaps - from Dead End's fatalistic view of the universe to Breakdown's paranoia and agoraphobia, they certainly knew how to deal with one another's quirks and oddities better than any other Decepticon. That familiarity with one another had not simply grown throughout the war; even during the first fights of the uprising, they had known how to work with one another. It was one reason why Shockwave had felt they would be a good team on whom to test his combiner technology. The end result could have been better as Menasor was certainly not the brightest gestalt mech to rise out of those experiments, but he was still a step above Bruticus whose coordination and intelligence suffered greatly due to the fact that his individual components, despite Onslaught's professionalism and tactical mind, lacked the cooperation and camaraderie required to actually match the Autobots' much better synced combiners Superion and Defensor.

The Stunticons' concern over Drag Strip's fate lent further credibility to the theory that they were related in some way. While it was not unheard of for a team to grow close over time, especially considering how long they had _been_ a team, most of the Stunticons just did not seem to have the appropriate personalities for developing attachments, especially Motormaster. It made the yellow Stunticon's fate all the more worrying - if the worst happened, Megatron could tell the team would suffer much more than the loss of Menasor's left arm.

Drag Strip's collapse was a loud, persistent reminder ping. It was the neon message Megatron had not wanted to see but could not ignore: the Decepticons could not wait another week for him to think of alternative choices that probably did not exist. It only gave a fifth unacceptable alternative to the first four: "overheat until they all died". They needed a cure, and they needed it orns ago.

He continued past the infirmary, past the silent Stunticons, and tried not to think about the last thing he heard before the medbay doors had closed three cycles past. He tried not to remember Drag Strip's hoarse voice uttering something utterly uncharacteristic of the crazed but confident mech, what very well could have been his last words.

_"I'm scared."_

—

_"We believe we can help you code a fix to purge the virus from your systems; however, our price for aiding you is the end of our war. I'm **not** asking you to surrender - I need you to understand this. I'm asking you to lay down arms, and we will **negotiate** a peace treaty. I want us to work **together** to finally put a stop to this conflict that has waged far longer than it ever should have. Neither of us is in the right here, but neither of us is completely wrong either. If you agree, we will meet in the Ark and begin drafting a peace treaty which will benefit both our factions as well as the neutral citizens whose lives our war has nearly destroyed. In the meantime, our medics and scientists will work on an anti-virus. If you agree to these terms, please send someone to the Ark as soon as possible. We need a copy of the file which originally contained the virus as well as a copy of your affected programming."_

Optimus Prime's voice faded as the recording finished playing, and silence descended over the war room save for the rattling of misaligned fans and overworked vent systems. Slowly, the Autobot leader's words registered in the heat-addled minds of those present - which were not many. Starscream had finally emerged from his quarters, but three Constructicons were still absent as was Motormaster, leaving the officer cadre present little more than a skeleton crew. Soundwave had patched his communication systems through to those absent so they could still contribute to the discussion if they could spare the attention, though it was doubtful if Motormaster was listening at all.

The mixed expressions of disbelief and borderline outrage on the faces of those few officers present were similar to Megatron's own when he had first heard the words from Optimus' own vocalizer. None could quite believe what they just heard - the Prime had given them a choice of surrendering or dying. Not that it was truly a _choice_. After all, no one was going to choose the latter option no matter how horrible he felt thanks to the damage the virus had already caused.

"All our vorns of fighting against the Council's Regime, all our energon spilled and lives lost, and _this_ is how it all ends?" Bonecrusher snarled, his engine growling as well from a mix of anger and endless lust. "Forced to _submit_ to the Autobots' demands or else have our base turned into little more than a brothel with us kicked back and getting fragged like a bunch of pleasure drones by the very mechs we've been fighting the entire war!"

Megatron scowled. He could have done without someone putting it into such blunt words no matter how on-point Bonecrusher's assessment happened to be.

"We don't really have much of a choice," Starscream grumbled from where he was huddled in a partial ball in his chair, his legs pressed tightly together, his arms folded in his lap, and leaned forward slightly in his seat so his canopy nearly touched the edge of the table. Nearly three orns ago or not, the memory of what happened was still very fresh, and for once, he did not care that he was not at optic-level with the other officers. "With communications down, we can't use the space bridge or even tell Shockwave to send a fellow Decepticon who could help us. And much as it scores my plating to admit...the offer he made could be a lot worse."

"How do you figure _that_?" Bonecrusher snorted.

"Did you _listen_ to the whole thing?" Onslaught snapped. "The _Victory_ isn't being turned into a 'brothel'-" The Combaticon hooked his fingers in exaggerated air quotes, partly just to make the Constructicon bristle even further. "They're going to code an anti-virus, if possible, so we _don't_ have to let them frag us. And he's not even telling us to surrender. He's asking to negotiate as 'payment' for helping us. He's giving us the chance to have a say in how we want to go forth with Cybertron's reconstruction, in what our _rights_ may be. That's more than the Council ever offered."

"And the _Council_ didn't have the advantage of being the only thing standing between us and either insanity or certain death," Megatron reluctantly added. "All they ever tried to do was either force us to surrender to be exiled or to simply wipe us off the face of the planet."

"But we also need to consider the possibility that they _can't_ code an anti-virus," Starscream pointed out. "Yes, they have better medical programmers than we do, but that doesn't mean they'll be able to do any better than we have. We may, indeed, have to go to berth with them to fix this. And even if they _can_ code an anti-virus, we may _still_ have to let them frag us if it looks like the coding of the patch will take too long."

Long Haul hesitated before he rolled one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Speaking only for myself," he said, "letting an Autobot frag me once isn't really _that_ high a price to pay...especially considering what the alternatives are. It's not like we're going to _actually_ be 'facing drones to them despite Bonecrusher, here's, melodramatic assessment." He ignored the glare cast his way from his teammate. "One romp, maybe twice to be on the safe side, and that's it. They're not going to turn us into 'facing slaves." Reluctant agreements were grumbled from around the table. When put that way, there was little room to argue.

"...might even be kinda fun," Scavenger dared to add. "A change of pace, anyway. _If_ it comes down to that."

< _I believe I can speak for the rest of my team when I say we're in agreement with Long Haul's assessment,_ > Scrapper suddenly spoke through Soundwave's communication systems, and his statement was joined by a quick, distracted affirmative from Hook and Mixmaster. Bonecrusher gave a put-upon sigh but nodded his agreement as well.

"Scrapper - what is Drag Strip's status?" Megatron asked quickly while the surgeons were momentarily distracted.

It was Hook who answered, < _He'll live._ > Megatron was not ashamed to admit he was surprised by the amount of tension which eased from the struts of every Decepticon present at that proclamation, wings or shoulders sagging just slightly all around the room. < _However, we had to put him into stasis. There were too many vital components compromised by overheating as badly as he did. Scorched circuitry, melted wiring...Primus, his primary cooling fan had actually broken off and nearly cut through the tertiary power cable to his spark chamber. That was probably what finally dropped him. Primus knows how long the rest of his systems have been like this._ >

Scrapper continued, < _We managed to replace or repair the majority of the damage, but a lot is simply patched together. We just don't have all of the materials necessary to replace everything, and if he overheats this badly again..._ >

"Being in stasis will prevent that from happening?" Starscream asked.

< _Not exactly prevent it,_ > Scrapper sighed in answer. < _But it will at least buy him more time. The virus is still active despite all of his systems being powered down and his spark providing minimal output. It's just...muted. It will at least be a little easier to keep him cooled down._ >

< _...if we agree to Prime's terms, we could get the Autobots to supply us the parts we need to fully repair him,_ > Hook reluctantly pointed out. < _We can bring him out of stasis once he's repaired, and maybe by then, we'll know how the Autobots are going to go about purging the virus. We could probably just keep him at the Ark anyway. It's winter in the Ark's area. Ice and snow will help keep him cooled._ >

All optics and visors turned to Megatron. Even though there was really no decision to make, the non-decision needed to be made official. It still had not been presented before the remaining Decepticons, but truthfully, there was little doubt in Megatron's mind that they would disagree given the alternatives, especially knowing of Drag Strip's condition and knowing it was only a matter of time before his fate was shared by everyone else.

"Very well," Megatron said as he glared down at his fists where they rested in front of him on the table. "Soundwave, send Ravage to the _Ark_ with a data pad containing the schematic and the original virus. The Autobots can compare the source code to the virus she's already carrying." He frowned at the spluttered static his order received and looked to his Third to find the blue mech staring at him. "Yes? Do you have something to say?"

"Request: send alternative Decepticon," Soundwave said simply. At least he had the grace to flinch at Megatron's glare, especially when it was backed by Starscream's smug grin.

"Give me one good reason," Megatron growled, making his Third flinch again. "It stands to reason that none of the Autobots beyond the officer cadre know of our situation and will _hopefully_ not be told until all of us know what can be done about the virus, meaning the Decepticon we send will need to get into the _Ark_ unseen in order to avoid being attacked by whatever Autobots are on guard duty. Ravage is unmatched in her ability to infiltrate the _Ark_. In addition, she is _professional_ \- name me one other Decepticon on board this ship who, on arrival, isn't likely to simply ride the spike of the first Autobot he sees at this point. So, again, give me _one_ good reason why you refuse to send Ravage _other_ than you deciding to be overprotective at the most inopportune time."

It was quite clear Soundwave wished to punch Starscream's slag-eating grin right off the Air Commander's face as the communications officer visibly struggled to provide "one good reason" for his leader's consideration. No one else seemed surprised or impressed either by his request or by Megatron's response. Soundwave had barely let his cassettes out of their shared quarters since the whole debacle began, especially Frenzy once it had been revealed he had inadvertently brought the virus upon them in the first place. He trusted no one and certainly did not trust any of his fellow Decepticons to not hurt them whether purposefully or by sheer accident - he feared for their safety largely because of the daunting size difference between them and the majority of the Decepticons. Of course, they had managed to escape his overbearing protection several times, usually when he was offline from his own attempts to relieve his frustration, but he had _not_ been happy about it and tightened his watch with each time they slipped away from him despite their protests.

"Fraggin' our sibs is fun and all, but...variety. We want it," Frenzy had tried to argue the last time.

"I've been banging Skywarp for years, and you never complained before," Rumble had pointed out. Soundwave wished he had not, partly because that was the first he had heard of it, and he normally prided himself on knowing everything about his offspring. Clearly, he needed to plant more bugs throughout the _Victory_ than he already had. Then again, that lone statement already told him _much_ more about his cassette's sex life than he truly wanted to know, so maybe more surveillance to the point of seeing it for himself was not exactly the best idea.

Regardless, Soundwave did not want Ravage out of his sight in enemy territory. Unfortunately, Megatron's arguments were sound, and Ravage would likely spend a good half-breem preening if she heard Megatron's glowing assessment of why she was the best candidate to send. And then Rumble and Frenzy would whine that there would be no living with her now. She prided herself on her skills as a spy and saboteur, and Soundwave in-turn was proud of her accomplishments. Her track record in getting in and out of the _Ark_ unimpeded was nearly flawless, and she could definitely fend for herself, fearlessly and ferociously. She had clawed open the faces of mechs Blitzwing's size. Truly, of all his offspring, Ravage was probably the one Soundwave needed to worry about the least.

Of course, knowing that did not mean he had to _like_ it.

Meekly, Soundwave amended his remark, "Request: Soundwave's choice of Decepticon transport." He ignored Starscream's snort of barely-contained laughter. It was not an unreasonable request. Given Ravage's size, it would have been almost impossible for her to make the journey from the _Victory_ to the _Ark_ without assistance, so the fact that she would have an escort had been left as an unspoken fact. Usually, it was simply whoever happened to be on patrol at the time, but, of course, no one had patrolled in some time, so Soundwave merely wished to have a say in who was chosen to fly her to her "assignment".

Megatron's glare lessened to a mere stare of trepidation as he replied, "Very well. Who do you have in mind?"

—

The harsh winds of the blizzard bearing down on Mount St. Hilary could be heard even through the mountainside. Or maybe that was Spike's imagination. The bow of the _Ark_ was buried deeply enough in the rock that it should have been impossible to hear the wind, but Spike liked to think he could anyway. It gave him an excuse to claim he was cold enough to bundle up in a blanket and not want to leave Optimus Prime's quarters. Despite being in his forties and one of the more highly respected ambassadors and liaisons between the Autobots and his fellow humans, Spike Witwicky still often thought of himself as a fifteen-year-old among the aliens for the first time - it helped that they usually indulged him.

As such, he was on vacation, the Decepticons had been inordinately quiet for a month, Daniel had been put to bed already, his "aft" was firmly planted in his favorite bean bag on the table next to Optimus Prime's favorite chair, he was bundled in his favorite quilt (quite imperfect and asymmetrical but handmade by Rewind, and had _that_ been a Christmas to remember), and there was a damn blizzard raging outside. Spike was determined to enjoy some quality time with his two best friends since he had not in far too long.

"Someone really needs to call OSHA about all the safety hazards in the design of this base," Bumblebee remarked from where he was seated at Spike's other side.

"Someone really needs to call OSHA about this giant alien phallus ejaculating jumbo shrimp all over the place," Optimus deadpanned in response.

"They look delicious!" Spike added. "They're already batter fried and everything!"

Optimus' hand parted from the Prime-sized console controller so he could gesture at the totally-not-compensating-for-anything-no-matter-how-many-times-Spike-accused-him vidscreen implanted into the wall of his private quarters. "Can we just take a klik to appreciate how ridiculous this boss design is?" he said with an exasperated huff of through his smokestacks. "Look at this - you have to run _into_ a wall while shooting diagonally up _through_ the wall to kill it!"

"Hey," Spike countered. "Shooting diagonally was a challenge on the old NES controllers. That took mad skillz."

"Don't tell him that," Bumblebee said. "It'll just inflate his retro gamer ego even more."

"Bah. Prime stopped being good at games in 1996." Spike returned Optimus' perturbed glare with a completely unapologetic grin. "Admit it. The Nintendo 64 ruined you."

" _No_ , it didn't," Prime huffed again. "Human programmers just don't understand how to create a three-dimensional game _properly_ yet. The controls were completely unintuitive. They didn't understand it then, and they're only just now getting a fair idea." The barely-muted snickers made him turn back to the screen so he could focus on his game, and he shifted his position to slouch further from his position seated sideways in his chair, crossing his ankles where his legs hung over the arm of the chair. He continued to play in relative silence for a few more kliks before growling with his engine.

"It is _not_ your night for power-ups," Bumblebee snickered, then laughed when his Prime let out a vile swear.

"Not only did it suck, it killed you too!" Spike laughed.

"This is not my best night of _Contra_ playing," Optimus sighed. His optics flickered slightly when his internal communications system activated and admitted Red Alert's voice into his audio receptors.  < _Yes, Red?_ >

< _I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but Megatron is contacting us again,_ > the security director replied, notably less tense than the last time, though his words were still stiff with suspicion. If they had not been, Optimus would have been worried.

The Prime's blue gaze flicked briefly to his two companions before focusing once more on the screen in front of him. Neither was one of the few privy to the details of the Decepticons' situation. While Bumblebee had been sent to talk to the scientists at Hathren Technologies regarding the virus, he knew not exactly why. According to his report, the virus was _supposed_ to be innocuous enough, supposedly designed simply to wipe the _Victory_ 's hard drives or some other inconvenience more typical of human-made viruses, but Prime and the other officers had agreed they would believe that once they compared Bumblebee's report to the actual virus - that was, _if_ Megatron agreed to their terms and supplied the original file along with an infected soldier.

< _I can't make them leave without raising suspicion,_ > Optimus responded. Whether it was a good or a bad night for power-ups, he could play _Contra_ with the barest amount of concentration and still keep Spike and Bumblebee entertained enough to prevent them from noticing his attention was elsewhere. Besides, now he _knew_ what was happening on the _Victory_ , and surely he would not have trouble talking due to embarrassment again if he did not have to _look_ at Megatron while communicating.  < _Patch him through to my comm-link, and secure the connection._ >

< _Yes, Prime._ >

"Aim up, stupid!" Bumblebee was yelling at the vidscreen as Optimus' character managed to shoot down a tank by standing at the left edge of the screen just out of the tank's range since it would not angle its turret up by two pixels. "That tank is dumb. It must be Brawl."

"Shoot him! Shoot him!" Spike said in a terrible imitation of what Optimus assumed to be Onslaught's voice.

"I can't!" Bumblebee joined in, modulating his own voice to a slightly better imitation of Brawl. "He's standing one foot too far!"

"I don't care - keep pouring it on! He might make a mistake and walk forward!"

Optimus laughed at their antics before his attention was brought back to his comm-link when it crackled with static. < _Megatron? Have you considered my offer?_ >

< _Yes, Prime,_ > Megatron's raspy voice growled in his audio. Oh - oh, smelt. This was a bad idea. This was the _worst_ idea in the _history_ of horrible ideas. Optimus did _not_ want to know what _Megatron's berthroom voice_ sounded like!  < _I still say you would have made a fine Decepticon. This coercion is almost Swindle-caliber. But after some deliberation, since your offer is negotiation rather than surrender, we..._ > The last word was choked through wounded pride. < _...accept. We don't have much choice, and...it could be worse._ >

Optimus' shoulders relaxed a little, tension easing from the cabling from dread that Megatron's answer would not be what he hoped to hear. < _I'm glad. We'll make this work - it's time we all stopped focusing on the negative past and try to look more toward a hopefully positive future._ > He settled a little deeper into his seat. < _As I said, we need you to send someone so we can analyze the virus, but I suggest you wait a few cycles, maybe another full orn - the Ark is currently under lockdown from a blizzard, and-_ > He cut himself off at the grumbled swear which filtered in over the frequency. < _What?_ >

< _I already sent Ravage. How big of a blizzard?_ > Excessively cold temperatures were the one thing neither faction took lightly - it was probably one of the few things on Earth which the Decepticons skirted around with some semblance of respect. They were, after all, a race which basically boiled down to extremely advanced computers and machinery, and while they could traverse the ocean depths or the vastness of space without much care for their well-being, ice was Bad News. Ice crystals could puncture vital wire sheathing, corrode metal, cause electrical shortages between circuits, and that was just the short list. At worst, extremely cold temperatures could send systems into shutdown to preserve heat, and if ice crystals managed to form on a Cybertronian's spark casing, it could create cracks or gaps in the crystalline shield. Once that happened, it was only a matter of time before water leaked into the sterile environment and corroded the spark itself. If the spark's energy did not bleed out from the cracks first.

Of course, the Decepticons had their current state of constant overheating as a buffer, but still. Blizzard. Bad. Standing snow was not worrisome and could even be soothing, sometimes. It was when the temperatures dropped into the negatives combined with wind that Cybertronians as a whole began to worry for their collective safety, especially when it came to tiny frames like Ravage's. The smaller the frame, the less its ability to warm itself even when said heating systems were overclocked.

< _It's big,_ > Prime answered gravely. < _We aren't expecting it to blow over until this time tomorrow, if not the next orn. What is Ravage's current location? How long ago did she depart?_ >

Megatron snorted. < _Of course. The one time you're in lockdown and can't deploy, we're completely incapable of launching a raid._ > He snorted again at the disapproving noise Optimus made. < _Ravage and her transport left approximately a cycle ago._ > There was a pause, and Optimus assumed Megatron was checking Ravage's signal as he answered the first question after a brief klik of silence. < _They haven't yet reached the coast - perhaps three breems out._ >

< _Send Red Alert their coordinates; he can triangulate their position and advise where they can take shelter until the blizzard has passed. If necessary, I can send someone to retrieve them once the weather has died down some._ > Ratchet would complain, but Optimus knew he would do it anyway if only to immediately ensure the cassette did not suffer complications from the weather rather than waiting for her to be brought to the Autobots' infirmary.

Megatron gave a short grunt of acknowledgment before he went quiet once more, Prime assumed so he could talk to Red Alert. He kept the connection active in case Megatron needed to speak with him again but otherwise allowed his attention to partially move back to the other two present in the room, just in case they had grown suspicious of his silence.

"Ah, yes," Bumblebee was saying in his worst attempt at a stereotypical James Bond villain, "We shall lure him into the electric field and then _roll bowling pins at him_! Good! _Good_!"

So much for worrying about _that_.

"These rooms blew my mind when I was a kid," Spike muttered.

"What - the fake 3D?" Optimus asked.

Spike frowned at him. "It's not fake."

"Of course it is," the Prime countered. "Passable 3D in the '80s was 2D stuff in a 3D perspective."

"That's what this is."

"This is 3D perspective of 2D stuff that isn't actually 3D or stuff. It's just regular perspective."

Bumblebee made a choking noise as he tried to laugh and parse that statement at the same time. "Um...dimensions...don't...work that way?"

"They do in _Contra_ ," Prime deadpanned. As Spike and Bumblebee resumed their commentary, Optimus' attention shifted back to his once-again crackling communicator. < _Was Red Alert able to route them?_ >

< _Yes,_ > Megatron answered, and Optimus resisted the urge to cringe as the Decepticon leader sounded even _more_ breathy this time. Which was rather odd since they had no need to breathe in the first place; not through anything that would have affected the vocalizer, anyway.  < _Given the size of the blizzard, it may be this time tomorrow before Ravage can make it, but she is under instructions to make her way directly to your medbay._ >

< _I'll have someone ready to bring her in-_ >

Megatron scoffed. < _Please. She's been infiltrating your poorly secured base for a quarter of a vorn. She'll meet your medic there._ >

Optimus grunted over the frequency. < _Very well. And by the way, if we're going to go down to that level, Bumblebee's known the code to your private quarters for fifteen years._ > Megatron made an odd noise like a choked growl and started to respond before Prime cut him off. < _0317491-45872._ >

There was a long pause before the Decepticon leader grumbled a barely audible "note to self" to change his code, though he was quick - far too quick, Optimus thought - to add, < _Though I hate to say I actually wouldn't say 'no' if he decided to **use** it right now. Even if he wouldn't be my first choice._ > Prime was very glad Spike and Bumblebee were too busy snarking at the game to notice his character's death was because he had jerked the controller in an attempt to not choke in flustered embarrassment. He could not quite prevent himself from spluttering static over the communication frequency, however, and Megatron's amusement was obvious. < _Unless there's a specific reason **you** memorized it, hmmm?_ >

His audience's laughter at Optimus' next in-game death was uproarious.

"My name's Optimus - I only need two lives. Nyah nyah nyah," Bumblebee said in a deep, almost passable impersonation of his Prime's voice. "Nothing will kill me. I'm perfect at this game. I'm gonna jump into death bubbles all the time."

Megatron only snickered in the Prime's audio receptor, reveling in the flustered silence on Optimus' end of the frequency. < _Contact me as soon as you have any additional information on the virus._ > Oh, that was not a purr - that _better not_ have been a _purr_.  < _Or, better yet, deliver the information yourself. I'll even leave my access code deactivated._ >

Optimus hunched in on himself, no longer caring if his companions noticed. < _I hate you,_ > he half-grumbled, half-whimpered. Megatron only laughed before severing the connection.

—

There were many times in the last several years on Earth when Ravage hated her life. Just as with her much larger comrades, the last week was one of those times. Being trapped in an endless heat cycle was bad enough. Being trapped in the _Victory_ with three dozen other mechs _also_ in an endless heat cycle just made an already bad situation worse. And, of course, on top of that, now she was being deployed on a mission - if it could be called that - to the _Ark_ in the middle of a frelling blizzard. The most annoying thing about the last part was that if Megatron had not been so desperate to get her to her destination and have the virus analyzed, he might have thought to check the fragging weather beforehand.

Alas, no, their thoughtful, intrepid, glorious leader had apparently thought himself above turning on the Weather Channel for two kliks, leaving Ravage and her ride seeking shelter among the dense wood and rolling hills of the Tillamook State Forest. Had the weather permitted, it would have only taken them another half-cycle to reach Mount St. Hilary where the _Ark_ was half-buried, but neither dared rise above the trees which were just barely buffering the freezing wind and snow. No matter the hurry they were in, it would be safer to simply wait for it to pass. That was easier said than done for Ravage's "escort" - she was small enough to wedge herself into the shelter of some large tree roots and curl up to conserve as much heat as possible. He...was not.

 _"I still say it was overkill sending **you** to fly me there,"_ Ravage said needlessly as she looked up at her unwilling companion, crimson optics shining through the dark of the moonless and starless night. _"I mean, seriously - I could have hitched a ride in Thundercracker or even Soundwave himself and still gotten there just fine."_

"Tell Megatron and your frellin' overprotective creator that," Astrotrain growled over the howling wind and tried to wedge himself further between a few trees in a futile attempt to get as much of his exposed plating out of the cold as possible. "They said I was giving off the most waste heat and needed to get me outta there to try bringing down the temperature."

 _"I can believe that,"_ Ravage huffed. Due to their size, Astrotrain and Blitzwing's section of the _Victory_ had been running the hottest ever since the Decepticons' ordeal began, and it had only grown hotter as the virus kept its claws solidly in their circuits. Honestly, having Astrotrain out of the ship for an orn or two was probably not going to bring the temperature down _that_ much, but with Drag Strip's condition still precarious at best, no one was going to argue.

No one other than Soundwave had argued with sending Ravage either. While Ravage did believe Megatron's glowing assessment of her abilities and professionalism to be the main reason he chose her for the "mission", she also held absolutely no doubt that the secondary reason she was chosen was simply to get her out of sight. Ravage was the one Decepticon who had not broken down to take relief among her comrades, not due to difference in size or mistrust or anything else but simply because she had not _needed_ to. Never before had any of her fellow Decepticons been jealous of her flexibility than the first time they saw her curled up on a shelf in the commons with one hind leg lifted out of the way so she could bend over double and quite easily lick herself to overload.

And to think they had spent most of the war ridiculing her for her "primitive", animalistic form of a photovalic gridguar. Upon noticing their jealous stares, Ravage had made it a point to make sure _every frelling Decepticon_ got an optic-full whenever she possibly could. Let them writhe and trade paint with one another - Ravage had finally proven she was better than all of them.

Actually, that was not a bad idea right now - the charge was still clawing at her circuits despite the biting wind, and it was not as if she had anything better to do.

The piteous whine Astrotrain made when the cassette began shifting her position nearly made her laugh, but she decided to ignore him and turned to keep herself as sheltered in the tree's roots as possible. At least, she would have ignored him if he had not nearly immediately cut off his pitiful whine and spoke once more.

"Hey...I have an idea."

Ravage shot him a thoroughly unamused half-glare over her shoulder. _"Whatever it is, you can forget it."_

"Just hear me out!" He tried giving her his best disarming grin, but she was completely unimpressed.

 _"You need to take lessons from Swindle - he does a much better used-transport-salesmech smile."_ Still, she was curious now, so she turned around to face him once more. _"Not promising anything, but what?"_

"...you purr, right?"

Ravage blinked blankly at him. Of all the things she expected to be asked, that was not one of them. _"...some...times...?"_

"Can the vibration go through your whole body when you do?"

 _"What does that..."_ Ravage trailed off, and her optics brightened as she quickly realized where he was headed with his questions. The light of her optics darkened again in a glare. _"You **cannot** be serious."_

Astrotrain tried the grin again. "You're just the right size! And we gotta keep warm anyway, yeah? Heat or not, this blizzard's going to bring down our temperatures before long unless we do something about it..."

 _"You're **seriously** expecting me to **crawl inside your valve** and purr until you get off?!"_ Ravage growled. _"Even if I agreed to such a patently **ridiculous** idea, what do **I** get out of it? Soaked to my circuits in **you**."_ She stuck out her tongue in case the disgust in her voice was not enough.

"Swindle owes me some big-time favors," Astrotrain offered, and if his request had not been so bizarre and borderline horrifying, she might have laughed at the desperation in his voice.

_"Not even for all the high grade in the galaxy!"_

"Every last cube he owes me, and the best treats and tune-up shanix can buy on Monacus."

Ravage's growl tapered to a low rumble as she considered. She had been to Monacus before, and despite the war on Cybertron, shanix was still one of the top five galactic currencies. Ravage tapped one claw thoughtfully. _"How many shanix are we talking, here?"_ she asked.

"I've been saving up my stipend since we woke up on Earth," Astrotrain answered and shrugged. "What have we had to spend it on _here_?"

Ravage rumbled thoughtfully. As a functioning army, the Decepticons as a whole received a stipend for their loyalty and duties during the war in the form of their ornly rations and a not-insubstantial amount of funds. After all, an army did not fight on loyalty alone, and most of Cybertron, despite being under the rule of one faction or the other, still held a functioning economy as those Cybertronians who refused to choose a side sold parts and materials to those who fought. Since the overall goal was to end the war and rebuild the damaged sections of Cybertron, it would not do to have an entire army of veterans who were dead broke. If Astrotrain had truly been saving his stipend since the Earth contingent's awakening, that...was a generous amount. And Monacus did, indeed, have some of the best luxuries in which a Cybertronian could hope to indulge.

 _"I also get the pilot's seat every time I ride in you from now on,"_ Ravage countered. _"You send in your smallest cable after me so I get something out of this too. And not. One. Word. To **anyone**."_

Astrotrain grinned. "Deal!"

Her tape whirred noisily in her chest to ensure Astrotrain knew she was recording their bargain. _"And if you try to back out of this later, I'm biting off your spike the nanoklik you can use it again and keeping it for a scratching post,"_ she warned.

The triplechanger cringed and pressed his knees together briefly, but he nodded. "Don't worry - I know better than to cross _you_. I saw what happened the last time Reflector got on your bad side."

Ravage grinned. _"Good."_ She stood and flexed her claws. Who said this ordeal could not get any weirder? _"Well, then. Open up."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone who's _actually_ played _Contra_ reads this, yes, they played the game really out-of-sync. Bad comedy trumps gameplay accuracy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nanoklik - ~1 second  
> klik - 1.2 minutes  
> breem - 8.3 minutes  
> cycle - 2 hours  
> orn - 1 day  
> stellar cycle - 1 year  
> vorn - 83 years

Every cycle was prolonged torture. Every klik which passed by with no answer from the Autobots was another klik of burning, endless need and charge crawling along circuits and between wires. Once Ravage and Astrotrain had been deployed to the _Ark_ , the Decepticon officers reluctantly broke the news of their impending peace treaty to the remaining soldiers. While some were a little more tactful than others, the general consensus had been "don't give a frag; just cure us already". Megatron honestly wondered if the information had actually registered in their heat-addled minds, but as long as he was not going to have a mutiny on his hands from the news, he found himself unable to care.

All he cared about was finally getting some answers. And _relief_.

However, Megatron had to accept the fact that no answers - or relief - would be forthcoming for a while longer. How long that "while" would be was still undetermined. Ever since he had coordinated with Red Alert - and had _that_ been an... _interesting_ experience - to redirect Ravage and Astrotrain to shelter from the blizzard, Megatron had Soundwave periodically check the status of the storm bearing down on the _Ark_ 's area. Unfortunately, the blizzard was a sluggish behemoth, and after the fourth cycle of checking, pacing, re-checking, swearing, and re-re-checking since the pair's deployment, all a justifiably annoyed Soundwave could provide Megatron was an assurance that Ravage would notify him the klik they could safely continue on their way to the _Ark_.

With nothing else to do with their time, and with most duties aboard the _Victory_ all but rendered obsolete with the impending peace negotiations, Megatron ordered everyone outside the ship to cool down. If they had to wait, they may as well try to slow some of the damage their condition was doing to themselves by sitting in the cold, watery depths of the ocean for a few cycles. In addition, with the majority of the Decepticons out of the _Victory_ , Megatron hoped the ship's ventilation systems could, perhaps, actually manage to purge some of the accumulated heat. Two Constructicons stayed aboard at first, both to ensure the ventilation system was, indeed, purging the waste heat as well as to keep an optic on Drag Strip's precarious condition. It had already been decided that he would be taken out into the water later once the other Decepticons returned, possibly to stay until he could be transferred to the _Ark_ for full repairs. That was the _one_ positive when it came to the blizzard surrounding the _Ark_ \- once Drag Strip was transferred and repaired, Megatron had already made his mind to order Drag Strip to remain outside in the snow until he was cured in order to avoid a repeat incident. The Decepticon leader himself was actually looking forward to the snow once the wind died down enough to render the _Ark_ 's surrounding weather non-lethal.

The ocean would do in the meantime, however. Sea water bubbled furiously around each overheated Decepticon and made it nearly impossible to see more than a few microns in front of their faces. Not that seeing was truly necessary. For the most part, they stayed in one place or just milled about within a short distance of the hull's entrance hatch. A few had initially tried to wander around the outskirts of the _Victory_ simply for the novelty of being on the sea floor with no true obligations to occupy them, but Starscream quickly put a stop to that, shrieking both in voice and over communication frequencies that if anyone stepped on the coral or kelp beds near the front of the ship, the perpetrator would be eviscerated.

"I mean it," he had warned. "You kill my seahorses, I kill _you_." Given the Decepticon Second's volatile mood - more so than usual - since his unfortunate accident, and since the bubbling water made it difficult to see where they were stepping, no Decepticon wished to press his luck. In the grand scope of things, not walking around the area of the sea floor adjacent to the command center was not _that_ tall a request. If the stupid Chair from the war room and strangely-shaped aquatic wildlife which had taken to living outside the windows of the observatory were all it took to keep Starscream complacent given the circumstances, Megatron decided it could have been much worse. Once where everyone was "allowed" to walk had been sorted, there was no other incident, which was fine with him, and for the next two cycles, Megatron simply sat on a rock surrounded by water, bubbles, fellow Decepticons, increasingly curious fish, and his own misery.

The unfortunate truth was that the sea water only mitigated the heat. It did nothing for the _need_. It did nothing to fill an achingly empty valve. It did nothing to quell the urge to break off a piece of nearby coral and shove it as deeply into his valve as possible. Megatron still possessed enough of his shredded pride to stop himself from entertaining the utterly ridiculous notion, but he held no illusions that his subordinate Decepticons still held such a grasp on their self-control. In fact, he _knew_ they did not if he was honest with himself. And if the few glimpses he was able to get of some of the other Decepticons through the bubbling water were any indication. The first glimpse had made him wish he could melt his own optical sensors. The second glimpse made him tilt his head and wonder how it was possible for Blitzwing to be that flexible.

The third glimpse convinced him he needed to go back inside before he surrendered to the temptation to join the ever-growing pile of Decepticons writhing in the kelp.

Scrapper, Long Haul, and Starscream followed him inside, Scrapper and Scavenger to relieve Hook and Bonecrusher so they could have a few cycles of relief from over heating if nothing else, and Starscream to escape from the kelp-wrapped ridiculousness as well. It was as the four were standing in the moon pool to let the sea water drain from their frames that they realized they perhaps needed to be a little more aware of their surroundings should they step outside again. After all, it was not _just_ water out there.

"The Autobots can't call us back a nanoklik too soon," Long Haul grumbled from where he stood bent over the water with the grill of his alt mode open. With an occasional shake of his upper body, another fish fell free of his chest and sunk to the depths. Most were still alive - the less fortunate wildlife would probably have to be extracted in the wash rack, preferably as soon as possible.

"Soundwave still hasn't heard from Ravage," Megatron huffed as he felt under the plating of his leg for...honestly, he was not truly sure he _wanted_ to know what was squirming around in his wiring. It was difficult to determine if it was one large octopus or a dozen small fish. Probably both. Primus, don't let it be both.

Scrapper was positioned similarly to his teammate, just the other way around with his aft hanging over the pool instead as he shook fish and crustaceans out of the exposed internals of his back and legs. "Current estimates are that the blizzard won't have passed enough for them to leave shelter until tomorrow," he sighed.

"And _why_ didn't you check the weather, oh _glorious_ leader?" Starscream hissed. He was the only one not actively shaking out or digging for aquatic wildlife, though not for lack of wildlife _to_ extract. Apparently, while the two Constructicons and Megatron had attracted fish, cephalopods, and the occasional eel, Starscream had proven popular with crustaceans which were slowly crawling out of gaps in his plating or through his vents. Rather than grope around in his systems or shake himself like a dog over the water, Starscream opted to simply wait for the majority to get out on their own and _then_ rid himself of his infestation.

"Don't start with me, Starscream," Megatron growled in return. "Whether we had known about the storm before deploying Ravage and Astrotrain or not, we'd still be waiting for it to pass." Aha - _there_ was the culprit.

"He's correct," Scrapper interjected, ignoring Starscream's glare. "At least now, with them already deployed and waiting, they'll be in the _Ark_ as soon as the storm passes. This way, we don't have to wait for the blizzard to pass _and_ them to fly there."

"Shut up, Scrapper," Starscream snapped. "We wouldn't have to wait at all if _someone_ hadn't waited two whole orns to discuss Prime's deal in the first place! We could have answers by now—" His tirade cut off with an incredulous squawk when he found himself with a face full of squid.

"I'll be in my quarters," Megatron said as he closed the plating of his leg and brushed squid ink from his hands. "Contact me only if Drag Strip's condition changes or Ravage reports back." He passed his disgruntled Second as Starscream peeled the wiggling squid off of his face and threw it into the water, and as the door to the docking area closed behind him, Megatron could not resist the urge to smirk when he heard Starscream's irate shriek.

"Get off me, insolent crabs!"

—

On some level, Megatron supposed he should have felt rather silly for going from the ocean straight to his wash rack. The change in environment from water to water only differed in its surroundings, though that was enough for him. Unfortunately, the spray of water was redirected from the already cold ocean outside the ship and could not be made any colder without freezing it and the piping itself, but it was private and squidless. Those were the important parts. In his own wash rack, Megatron was able to sit under the spray away from screeching Seconds, writhing subordinates, and curious creatures - nothing around but purple walls, cold water, and his own misery, though even the walls were difficult to see at the moment. Despite the water being set to the coldest possible temperature, the small room was filled with steam as it evaporated shortly after pelting his overheated plating, and Megatron managed to dredge the energy and presence of mind for a nanoklik to be thankful for the fact that the _Victory_ 's filtration system was still working to separate the salt content of the sea water to prevent the drain (and his joints) from crusting.

Not for the first time, Megatron found his gaze drifting up the wall in front of him to look into the spray and considered standing up to detach it. He had already used the nozzle's adjustable stream for relief several times since the Decepticons' ordeal started. However, he reminded himself not for the first time, that required standing up, and moving in any fashion sounded incredibly distasteful for the foreseeable future. Before he had simply sat down on the floor of his wash rack, he had raided his quarters for anything that would fit into his now _very_ sore valve, from his fingers to every stylus he could find, an empty bottle of coolant, and eventually every one of the Constructicon-made toys he had already broken over the last few orns. On the positive side, breaking them meant no one else wanted them, so he got to keep them. On the negative side, _they were broken_. They lost a lot of their appeal once they stopped vibrating - not all, but a lot. Unfortunately, most were broken beyond simply no longer vibrating at this point, and Megatron's higher reasoning skills were still functioning enough to purge the idea of using any which might get _stuck_ , if only for the sake of his pride.

Megatron's gaze shifted from the shower nozzle down to the nearest toy which was not broken beyond usability and winced as his valve managed to clench hungrily and throb painfully at the same time. It had been subjected to more abuse in the last few orns than he suspected it may have endured in his entire life, and it was all self-inflicted as he refused to lower himself to fraternizing with his subordinates. He still had to look these mechs in the optics and visors when this was all over, after all. It was going to be hard enough thanks to witnessing them fragging each other senseless.

It was not as if Megatron was _against_ using his valve for interfacing. Contrary to the gossip he knew still went around, he actually had no preference either way - his issue was _time_. When one ran an army of misfits trying to save his planet from starvation as well as defeat the opposing army of misfits, one did not really have _time_ to fool around even if he wanted to - time _or_ energy. On the very rare occasions he had the luxury to indulge in a good roll in the berth, usually due to boredom, Megatron's past partners had preferred he spike them rather than the other way around. He supposed that was when the rumor mill started claiming he had a spike preference or, depending on who was gossiping, was spike-exclusive. He simply did not care one way or the other, though if Megatron was honest with himself, the last two weeks of torture were beginning to steer him toward being spike-exclusive after all. 

Even if he did still find interest in being spiked after their ordeal finally ended, there were few among the Decepticons with whom he currently shared space who he would have felt comfortable allowing near his valve. Soundwave, maybe. Starscream, _definitely_ not, even once his own spike was restored - the egotistical seeker would probably ruin the experience by gloating. Shockwave... Megatron's face scrunched in distaste. No, not him either. Too agreeable - Megatron would find himself second-guessing the whole time whether or not Shockwave's consent was legitimate or pressured due to loyalty and his leader-worship complex. No, definitely not Shockwave. Nor anyone from any of the combiner teams - Motormaster was too loud and would probably view taking Megatron's valve as a sign of his own superiority, Scrapper was too distractable, and Onslaught had not earned the positive attention. Reflector, the Insecticons, and Soundwave's cassettes were too small. Blitzwing was an _idiot_. Astrotrain...now, he had potential. And a nice, big spike once it could be put to use again. And _cables_. Those were always a bonus. Megatron filed his name away for future consideration if the triplechanger expressed interest. Thundercracker, as well - he was the only seeker Megatron could stand to be in close quarters with for a lengthy amount of time willingly, though he _did_ have a propensity toward brooding. And, now that Megatron thought of it, he was probably a package deal with Skywarp, which lessened the blue seeker's appeal. And the other seekers...no. Just...no.

Truthfully, the only Decepticon Megatron could see himself giving an unequivocal "yes" to was Soundwave due to the mech's long-standing loyalty, professionalism, and - again, if Megatron was honest with himself - rather attractive frame. Sure, the seekers had that sleek, svelte look which a great many mechs fetishized, but Megatron liked a mech with a nice, sturdy frame. Soundwave had a lot of negative internal space by design - he had to in order to house his cassettes - but he made up for it in a sturdy, boxy shape and thick plating to protect his much more fragile interior. Megatron supposed his preference was possibly a holdover from his orns as a miner. Such frame types were rare nowadays, usually found on older mechs, despite their usefulness in the middle of a war.

Megatron barely noticed as the tips of his fingers circled the tender rim of his valve, his attention having drifted. Yes, he could easily see Soundwave over him, all hard edges and thick plating, strong arms supporting him as he leaned over his leader. The cassette carrier was of a comparative size as well, just a little smaller than Megatron himself. Granted, very few mechs were Megatron's size or larger, especially on Earth. Again, Astrotrain sprung to mind as one of the rare exceptions, but the Decepticon leader did not consider Astrotrain to be conventionally attractive. He would not be opposed to experimentation should the triplechanger express interest in the future, but Megatron could not see himself seeking out his attentions. Instead, he concentrated on trying to imagine Soundwave over him again.

Offlining his optics for a brief klik, Megatron settled comfortably under the cold spray and teased the sore entrance of his valve. He would have to gauge Soundwave's interest when this was all over - the more he thought about it, the more appealing he found the idea of spreading for his most loyal soldier. He could picture Soundwave poised over him, framed by the overhead lights of his quarters. He would probably take his time, teasing the tip of his spike against the rim of Megatron's valve to go slowly after too many weeks of frantic desperation. He was likely just the right size for his frame type; Megatron found it difficult to imagine Soundwave to be the type of mech who had his spike modified back when such modifications were more common. Then again, the mechs one least suspected _were_ often the adventurous type, after all. Megatron's systems rumbled with interest as he envisioned the kind of modifications which suited Soundwave - his bet was on bio-lights. Soundwave seemed _just_ the type to have bright strips of lightpiping installed in his spike for novelty, either encouraged by his little twin terrors or a leftover from his younger and wilder orns.

Charge ramped up quickly and easily lately even if the need and desperation did not ebb nearly as fast, and it did not take long for Megatron to bypass the discomfort of his sore valve lining to pump his fingers in and out in time with his imaginary subordinate's movements. If he dimmed his optics against the harsh light of his wash rack, he could almost see Soundwave over him, silhouetted against the lights of his quarters and moving with firm but unhurried thrusts. Megatron wondered what kinds of noises Soundwave made in passion - was he quiet as always, or was this the one occasion where he let himself go? Did he whimper, or was he a screamer? Or maybe somewhere in the middle? Megatron's thumb pressed against the abused frontal node of his valve as he pumped his fingers faster, pressure coiling tightly in his abdomen. Over him, the dark, blocky form of his imaginary companion also quickened his pace and drove harder into the Decepticon leader's well-lubricated passage. Megatron offlined his optics completely so he could concentrate on the sensations, his hips bucking into his hand as he desperately chased completion. In his imagination, his companion leaned forward and brushed the center ridge of a face mask over the silver mech's audio.

_"Megatron..."_ Optimus' voice purred.

Megatron's optics flared online once more as overload crashed over him almost violently. His free hand clenched into a fist and slammed down on the floor, and his valve clamped onto his fingers as he could do nothing but tremble from the intensity for a long moment. After what felt like an eternity, his joints unlocked, and he was left shaking, staring dazedly at the opposite wall as the nozzle above him continued to spray water over him which no longer felt anywhere near cold enough. He had no idea how or why his fantasy had changed so thoroughly at the end, and he refused to consider the implications of it triggering the strongest overload he had endured since contracting the virus. 

Thank Primus for private wash racks.

Scowling, Megatron ran his hand through the water accumulated on the floor of the rack to rinse lubricants from his fingers, and he forced his panel to close lest he be tempted into trying again. The need had ebbed for now, but he knew it would begin again shortly. Still, he also knew nothing he did for the next few cycles would feel at all pleasant, not with the rim of his valve throbbing painfully if he so much as twitched his plating the wrong way. With a growl, Megatron began slowly and reluctantly pushing himself to his feet to turn off the spray. It was not helping as much as he wished, and if he was going to be miserable anyway, he could be miserable trying to recharge.

—

It had taken nearly two full orns to thoroughly analyze the virus once copies of it and Ravage's corrupted core programming had been installed onto a data pad quarantined from Teletraan-1's wireless data streams. Most of that time had been divided between analysis, examination of the afflicted cassette, compiling data, and running simulations on potential treatments. Finally, near the end of the second orn, Ratchet and Wheeljack declared they were ready to share their findings, and by Megatron's insistence, the Autobots' update was to be transmitted as audio only. Optimus refused to think about _why_ Megatron did not want to be seen this time or what he and the other Decepticons might be doing behind the shield of invisibility. And, after his thorough examination of Ravage, Ratchet declared he neither needed nor wanted an explanation either.

"I still want to know what they've been doing to that poor cassette," the medic grumbled as Wheeljack worked to establish the correct frequency with the _Victory_. While the engineer had analyzed the virus and run simulations, Ratchet had spent the better part of half an orn giving the cassette a complete health evaluation. The only reason the examination had taken as long as it had was because the poor cassette had been mostly frozen in an icy shell of what Ratchet could only determine to be a massive amount of lubricants. It had taken far longer than anyone liked to help her thaw, including breaking out a few chisels and a heat lamp from Wheeljack's laboratory. _How_ Ravage had managed to get soaked nose to tail in such a way was beyond Ratchet.

Ravage, for her part, was not talking and had hidden in the darkest corner of the infirmary to stew in abject humiliation the nanoklik Ratchet was finished with her.

"No, you probably don't," Wheeljack countered over his shoulder.

"...yeah, I probably don't," Ratchet sighed, then raised his voice to its normal speaking volume. "Well, I'm ready when they are."

Optimus crossed his arms over his windshields and glanced to Wheeljack for confirmation. At the engineer's nod, he spoke, "I want to make sure everyone is aware that those present for this conversation are myself, Wheeljack, Ratchet, Prowl, and Jazz. Listening in but without direct input are the remaining officers, Ironhide, Red Alert, and Blaster. Can you hear us, Megatron?"

< _We're here,_ > came the Decepticon leader's voice from the console.

< _No promises on how many are **listening** ,_ > Hook's voice huffed, < _But Soundwave has this patched through to everyone's commlink. If they're not **preoccupied** , this will save time from having to re-explain later._ >

"Well, that's good because we have some rather bad news, and it's probably best to break it to everyone at once." Ratchet turned to face the console so the microphone would pick up everything he said, ignoring Megatron's grumbled "Wonderful". "The good news is that this aspect of our anatomy is still uncompromised as far as human knowledge is concerned. The original copy of the virus you provided corroborates with what Bumblebee was told by Dr. Hathren - it was only intended to target basic computer systems to wipe hard drives, basically just to inconvenience you for a while. I suppose he thought you would use a data slug of some sort to store the stolen information, not yourselves." Ratchet shook his head. "The virus had an aneurysm when it hit Cybertronian code, and it mutated to what you're now infected with. Questions so far?"

< _What's an aneurysm?_ >

< _Shut up, Blitzwing,_ > Starscream snapped. < _We figured out that much already, and joy of joys, the humans still don't know how we frag. Big deal. Mind telling us something **new** , or are you **completely** useless?_ >

Ratchet glared at the console and crossed his arms over his windshield. "Well, I was going to break this to you softly, but if you're going to be like _that_ , fine. The bad news is we can't patch the virus. An anti-virus is impossible." Silence fell over the line as he let that information sink in, and Ratchet did not need a video connection to envision the mixed expressions of shock, dread, and denial which were likely circulating each Decepticon in turn. The medic forced his temper to settle, knowing full well that his callous announcement was in no way something a group of slowly dying mechs needed to dwell on for long, and he continued before the uproar could start, "The problem is it's latched onto vital systems. You already knew part of that, but it's worse than you may have thought. I ran numerous trial scenarios on a data pad I infected with the version of the virus Ravage is carrying. On that pad, I also included a mock-up of standard Cybertronian code and simulations of all systems vital for basic survival, and each patch and anti-virus I threw at it shut down something important in response." Ratchet frowned, his tone turning grave. "Its favorite target for shut-down was memory. One simulation corrupted the mock-up mech's memory so severely, had it been a real mech, his basic knowledge was reduced to that of a first-vorn hatchling's. This happened in less than two kliks, far too fast to catch in the act and counter."

The silence over the connection was deafening, and no matter how horrified Optimus, Prowl, and Jazz appeared to the medic's side, Ratchet knew the Decepticons had to be exponentially more so. "There's still hope, though," he added, he hoped before anyone was overwhelmed with the urge to purge his tank. "Wheeljack?"

The engineer hopped up to sit on the edge of the nearest tables and nodded, speaking up so he could be heard. "When all those scenarios kept croppin' up, we ran through a few simulations where we followed the virus' cues. In its base code, it tells us right there how to purge it, an' Ravage says you found it too: transfluid and spark energy. Every simulation we ran where the infected mech interfaced both ways was a success. The virus deactivated and became dormant, and only then did the patch fully purge it. Once it's dormant, it takes all of its claws out of vital systems and just kinda sits there." Silence fell once more once Wheeljack finished speaking, and each Autobot present shifted uncomfortably as they waited for their enemies - former enemies - to fully process the answer they most likely had not wanted to hear.

After nearly half a breem, someone finally spoke, < _So we **are** gonna have to get fragged to fix this. Great._ >

< _And we can't just call in reinforcements from Cybertron?_ > someone else - Ratchet thought it sounded like Brawl.

< _Not with the space bridge still down on Cybertron's end,_ > Scrapper replied. < _And with Shockwave MIA and no one else answering, it's not getting fixed any time soon._ >

< _Much as it rankles me,_ > Megatron grumbled, < _it seems we're at the Autobots' mercy._ >

Optimus' shoulders visibly sagged as he looked to the console. "For what it's worth, I am truly sorry. Coercion, intended or not, is not how I wanted to end the war, but we will do our best to make this pass over quickly."

< _Hey - can we just send a few of our mechs over there to get 'fixed' and then they come back here an' fix us?_ > Dirge asked to a chorus of noises of agreement. < _Do we **have** to let Autobots frag us?_ > Optimus and his two vice commanders looked to their present scientists.

"Well...yes and no," Wheeljack admitted and winced at the frown Prowl gave him. "The problem is your transmetal reservoirs have dried up by now from a combination of overheating and your bodies cannibalizin' the nanites in order to fuel and self-repair the rest of your systems. Even under the ideal scenario of havin' all the fuel and rest you can possibly get afterward, it'd take a minimum of a month to regenerate enough transfluid to 'cure' even one other mech. So...yeah, you can send one mech over here to get 'cured', and he'll be able to spike you after another orn or two, but nothin's gonna come _out_."

< _Slag,_ > the blue seeker pouted.

< _Wait - wait!_ > Starscream suddenly hissed. His voice grew shriller and more distressed with each word, but something in the tone of his voice told the Autobots present that he was not actually speaking to them. < _You mean you **frelling morons** didn't take two kliks to confirm that **before** you strapped me down?! **I'll kill you!**_ > A chorus of horrified groans and gasps and "ooh"s erupted from the shared connection, mixed with the voices of all six Constructions stammering an unintelligible mix of apologies and justifications as Starscream continued to rage. Jazz flailed at the console until he found the volume controls to lessen the pain of Starscream living up to his name just in time for a spectacular crash to sound over the audio, and Starscream's shrieks promising murder mixed with Megatron's demands for his Second to calm himself and Onslaught's yells for the Constructicons to "run if they wanted to live".

< _Autobots: stand by,_ > Soundwave intoned over the new sound of metal striking metal - whether it was Starscream digging his claws into the nearest Constructicon or Megatron's fist connecting with his Second's helm, no one could guess - and the connection abruptly cut, leaving the Autobot infirmary in a sudden cloud of stupefied silence.

"So," Jazz finally spoke after a long few kliks of all five Autobots staring at the console. "Guesses as to what _that_ was about?" 

"I'm not sure I _want_ to know," Optimus admitted as his other three comrades only shrugged. "I've kind of suspected most meetings end like that anyway, but that seemed a bit...much, even for them—" He blinked at a pained groan and turned to look at Wheeljack as the engineer gave a full body cringe. "What?"

"One of the simulations I ran involved forcing the spike to extend, and...the virus doesn't like that. It forces the spike cover shut again. Think about it." Wheeljack looked to his leader and the two mechs beside him and watched as confusion morphed to realization, and even Prowl's jaw dropped for a nanoklik in horrified clarity as Jazz's stance shifted to slightly cross his legs.

"I'm gonna frellin' purge that image from my processor when we're done here," Jazz groaned and rubbed at his visor as if he could simply wipe it away.

"At least it'll be an easy fix once he can open again," Ratchet said with a shrug. "If they kept it, anyway." Anything else he was going to say was cut off as the console once again chimed to establish a connection, and Jazz reached over to acknowledge Soundwave's ping, voices once more flowing from the speakers.

< _—this piece go here or over there? I don't even know which piece this is._ >

< _—never seen anybody so thoroughly kill a table before._ >

< _—the chair out of the ceiling before—_ >

< _—ere'd all these crabs come from?_ >

< _Shut up!_ > Megatron snapped. < _Now that he's out of here, where were we?_ >

< _Autobots have to frag us,_ > Dead End grunted.

Optimus squirmed uncomfortably where he stood and once more silently asked Primus why He hated him, but he reset his vocalizer in an attempt to bring the conversation back to the relevant topic, as well as to keep himself from thinking too hard about Starscream and the unfortunate seeker's fate. "Yes - um - that." The Autobot commander heaved a sigh through his smokestacks. "Look, we know this is awkward and much less than ideal for all of us, so we want to at least _try_ to make it as painless as possible. Once we've adjourned here, I'm going to announce the situation to the rest of the Autobots, but we need to decide exactly how this is going to happen, first. Before anything happens, we need to get you and your officers here to make the ceasefire official and begin negotiations for ending the war itself."

Prowl's door wings flicked upward as he took over from his Prime and finally spoke, "Seeing as how the Decepticons' level of consent as a whole in this situation is grudging, at best, we thought it would be most fair to allow each Decepticon to choose who he wishes to 'cure' him. The chosen Autobot is still within his own right to refuse, so I would recommend having a few alternatives in mind. Some Autobots may well withdraw themselves entirely from the situation once we have announced it to them. However, this way, no one mech will have to endure laying with a mech he either finds unattractive or simply does not like for one reason or another. If a Decepticon truly has no preference, then we will call for volunteers among the Autobots. Afterward, the 'cured' Decepticon will report to the medbay to ensure the act was successful, the virus is dormant, and to receive the anti-virus patch to eliminate it." He paused to allow the Decepticons - whoever was still listening at that point - to process the information thus far.

< _Being spiked by an Autobot is one thing,_ > Thundercracker said. < _But what about the spark part? Does **that** have to be done with an Autobot as well?_ >

"Ratchet?"

"There, at least, we have good news," Ratchet answered. "No, you don't have to set up the spark link with the same mech spiking you. The only thing is that the connection has to be active at the same time you're being spiked. So, if there is a Decepticon you trust or would simply rather be connected to instead of your chosen Autobot, you might want to both choose the same Autobot or Autobots so you can both be 'cured' at the same time. _However_ ," he added quickly to stop the static he heard begin in the background which indicated Decepticons already discussing their choices privately. "There is something everyone needs to keep in mind about all of this _before_ you make your choices." He waited for the static to die down completely before he continued. "You're going to have a chamber full of transfluid, and your spark is going to be receptive to the other mech's energy no matter how hard you try to stymie the energy flow. The odds of clutching are...not insignificant."

The silence was once again choking as that new information crashed onto the already overwhelmed mechs aboard the _Victory_. Prowl resisted the urge to continue speaking so he could be assured as many as possible were listening once more.

Vortex was the first to find the courage to ask, < _Exactly how 'not insignificant' are we talking, here?_ >

Ratchet sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. "Because mechs _very_ rarely use the spark link while interfacing, you'd normally have a very slim chance of clutching because the odds of the nanites themselves spontaneously igniting a spark in the chamber from residual energy from your _own_ are around point-zero-zero-nine-one-three percent. With a spark link active, however, there's a lot more energy going through the recipient's system, and—"

< _**Odds.**_ >

"...depending on the recipient's frame type and overall health, sixty to seventy-two percent. Some lower, some higher. Some, I...can pretty well guarantee will."

Optimus pushed away from the table he had been half-sitting on and spoke before the Decepticons could dwell too long on the new revelation, "We've already discussed this, and we've unanimously agreed that should any Decepticon Spark when he does not wish to, _we_ will be responsible for the resultant clutch unless there are other Decepticons who would rather take it instead. None of you asked for this situation, so the best we can offer is to not burden you with the results." He bit back another sigh. "And while we hope it wouldn't have to come to it, should you decide you don't want to endure clutching in its entirety...assistance will be provided to terminate the process."

"And this is why you should choose carefully both your Autobot and whoever you're going to link sparks with, if different," Ratchet continued. "All mechs involved are going to go into that clutch if it happens." 

Prowl looked to Optimus as silence filled the connection once more, and after a klik, the Prime nodded for him to continue. "We are willing to discuss that aspect more in-depth later, and Ratchet has indicated he is willing to counsel in private should anyone need it. For now, let us return to the subject of the actual 'curing' process." He waited a few nanokliks for someone to make a noise to indicate at least someone was listening. "To make the ceasefire official and begin peace treaty negotiations, Megatron, Starscream, and Soundwave will stay in the _Ark_ for the foreseeable future in a secured wing, supervised or otherwise monitored outside of the assigned private rooms. To ensure the negotiations follow through to the signing of an official peace treaty, these three officers will consent to being the _last_ three Decepticons to be cured according to rank - Soundwave third-to-last, Starscream next-to-last, and Megatron last, all three waiting until the peace treaty is finalized." Prowl knew he did not imagine Megatron's annoyed growl, and he spared a brief thought to wonder if Starscream was even a part of the communication anymore or if his end had simply been silenced.

"Barring Starscream's health," Ratchet was quick to clarify. "Seekers overheat somewhat faster than the average mech, so he may not be able to wait that long. Regardless, I and my medics will be scanning, treating, and repairing the three of you as needed so you'll be able to endure the wait without permanent damage."

< _Fine, fine,_ > Megatron growled. < _I consent to this utter lack of a choice presented to me._ >

< _Soundwave: consents. Starscream: consents, additional profanity withheld._ >

"Thank you for that," Prowl deadpanned. "We hope to make the negotiations go as smoothly as possible so as to keep the three of you from having to wait and endure much more than you already have. During the negotiations, the other Decepticons will be allowed to come to the _Ark_ and make their choices three at a time, randomized, with no more than two members of the same combiner team aboard the _Ark_ at one time."

< _Drag Strip will be first,_ > Megatron said with conviction over a soft noise of relief which Prowl presumed came from Motormaster. < _He is in dire need of critical repairs we don't have the materials for and has been kept in medically induced stasis for several orns. He can't survive overheating much longer. He will likely need to be transported in Astrotrain with one of the Constructicons to monitor him._ >

"Very well - and since she is already here, Ravage may also make her choice. After Ravage, Drag Strip, Astrotrain, and one Constructicon, the remaining Decepticons will be randomized according to the guidelines already set forth, giving preference to those overheating badly enough for their health to be in jeopardy."

Jazz finally spoke from where he had perched atop one table, legs folded in with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands. "We're settin' up your li'l hideaway now, and we'll have an extra few private areas for...ah...'treatment' set aside in case whichever Autobot gets chosen doesn't wanna use his own berth for the deed. Still need time to finish that an' break the news to everyone, so we're shootin' for kick-off three orns from now. Sound good? Any objections to our terms so far?"

< _Plenty,_ > Megatron huffed. < _But I want this frelling ordeal to end more than I object to the idea of negotiating like some pompous Iaconian Senator or being followed around your ghastly colored ship. We will be there in three orns, so make sure your mechs don't shoot at us. Decepticons, out._ >

The connection terminated with a burst of static, leaving the assembled Autobots to glance between one another and shift in awkward silence until Jazz finally spoke once more, "Well, that coulda gone a lot worse."

"I can pretty much guarantee the upcoming announcement _will_ ," Optimus groaned and hid his face behind one of his hands.

Jazz snickered and hopped down from the table to stretch. "Well, better go get it over with. I'll go see how 'Hide an' Red are doin' gettin' everythin' set up."

"I will go gather everyone into the rec room for the announcement," Prowl said. "Ratchet, if there is nothing more you need to do to Ravage, I suggest you and Wheeljack reestablish contact with the _Victory_ and start prioritizing Decepticons who cannot wait randomization. There may be more like Drag Strip."

Duties determined, each Autobot present started away to see to his appointed task, each hoping the next few weeks would go as smoothly as possible. None truly wanted to dwell on what was going to happen behind closed doors in the near future - instead, they focused further to something very few had believed possible for far too long. No matter what happened at the _Ark_ or between who in the next few weeks, one thing was certain: imagining a peaceful future was finally no longer a hopeless fantasy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay for not taking two years this time? Sex is hard, man. Seriously, if it weren't for writing sex, this would have taken one month, not six.
> 
> There's...a lot of bestiality in this one, just to warn. Half of it is really fucking weird (even for bestiality) and probably not hot to anybody but me. I just couldn't get the image out of my head. I'm so sorry. If bestiality isn't your thing, you can safely read only the second scene and the first half of the third and probably not miss anything in terms of plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nanoklik - ~1 second  
> klik - 1.2 minutes  
> breem - 8.3 minutes  
> cycle - 2 hours  
> orn - 1 day  
> stellar cycle - 1 year  
> vorn - 83 years

"You were in a right state when I brought you in. Feel like sharing how that happened?"

 _"Not really,"_ Ravage grunted. _"Suffice it to say that this virus has completely destroyed all code strings responsible for rational thought for the time being."_

"I'll bet. I could smell you coming a mile away."

The cassette's audios pressed back, and she cringed with a half-sparked growl. _"That was a **terrible** pun. You're not allowed to talk again, ever."_ She shook her head at her companion's snickering and dimmed her optics, and after a long klik, she allowed her vocalizer to turn over. She had initially sworn that she would never purr again for the rest of her life after she had extricated herself from Astrotrain's valve - along with promising herself she would burn out all of her olfactory sensors and chemoreceptors or else she would never forget the scent and taste of being drenched in triplechanger fluids - but she supposed promises were made to be broken as her chosen Autobot's large, talented fingers worked at the tense cabling just behind her shoulder struts. Despite the burning need in her systems, Ravage had known she needed to relax at least a little if she hoped to make it through the last few cycles of torment. Unlike her Decepticon comrades, she could not simply pop open her panel and ride her Autobot's spike, mostly because she was just too small to be taken without proper preparation. To be properly prepared, she had to relax first.

Thankfully, they were not strangers to this arrangement.

 _"I'll give you forever to stop doing that, though,"_ Ravage rumbled, earning a soft laugh beside her left audio and a black thumb pressed more firmly against a particularly tense cable.

"You realize we're probably both going to be court-martialed if anyone finds out _why_ you picked me," Hound said. "I'm sure everybody's expecting you to pick Steeljaw."

Ravage turned her head to give her green companion a flat look with one optic. _" **Please** \- the mech probably wouldn't know where to stick it if I drew him a diagram. Besides, we've just been swapping paint for ten years. Motormaster and Silverbolt have been going at it a **lot** longer."_ She shrugged the shoulder not currently occupied by Hound's fingers. _"They don't have to know **why** \- just **who** , and I'm not even telling them who. Only Soundwave knows."_

Hound grimaced. "I'm not going to get the _talk_ again, am I?"

_"You'd better not. He knows I started it."_

"If you can call bonding over bad puns and wolf pack soap operas 'starting' anything," the scout laughed. "You know Loki sired the last litter, right? Grabbed Sif right out from under Thor's nose while Thor was out hunting."

 _"...well, I guess that was a foregone conclusion when we named that one Loki. I **thought** they looked too dark to be Thor's."_ Anything else Ravage may have added was cut off by a rolling purr as black fingers abandoned her shoulders to work tension from the cables of her hips. She stood to give Hound better access, and her purr deepened when she felt him bend down to nudge her tail out of the way with his head just before his tongue flicked against her overheated panel. Ravage lowered her front to the floor while pushing her aft further into the air and was rewarded with a low, hungry growl.

Any primitive-modeled mech knew what it was like to be fetishized, especially cassettes as they were more often modeled after mechanimals than not. Some mechs found the bestial forms attractive, though more got off on feeling it was "taboo" to frag or be fragged by a beast, and most of those mechs ignored or otherwise looked past the fact that cassettes were every bit as sapient as their bipedal counterparts. They were seen as a means to an end, a vibrator with fangs, claws, and talons. Those mechs disgusted Ravage, Astrotrain's bizarre proposition aside as he had been more focused on her size than her shape.

Most cassettes were mechanimal-shaped. It was just the way their sparks were encoded upon being split from the carrier's - Laserbeak and Buzzsaw's sparks told Soundwave "we need wings"; Ravage's said "I can't brain with two legs". It was the carrier's responsibility to listen to the cassette's spark during development in order to design the most compatible body, and if the spark chose a primitive design, there was no getting around it. Primus only knew what _Ramhorn_ 's spark told Blaster - Ravage often thought the look on his face as Ramhorn developed had probably been hilarious.

It was an archaic system that baffled all but spark splitters and their spawn and, unfortunately, supported the Functionist philosophy, but it worked for them - provided the carrier mech listened and designed the cassette's frame accordingly, it was extremely rare for a cassette to feel like a stranger in its own body, an unfortunately common problem with Vector Sigma-born mecha. Clutched mechs, of course, combined creators' nanites with their own sparks to build an ideal starting body, but those whose sparks came from Vector Sigma were placed in premade bodies for their start in life. The problems arose later on, when a mech who turned into a bulldozer insisted he felt down to his core he was supposed to have rotary blades, or another would not fly more than a few micrometers above buildings because he was terrified of heights, or still another constantly needed her wings repaired from rust damage because she insisted she felt most comfortable in the water. Otherwise healthy sparks were trapped in the wrong bodies, and society brushed them off, stating, "You have wheels, so you're a grounder; end of story. Deal with it. You are what you are." Alt mode therapy was still a controversial but highly studied practice, even during the war, and black market hospitals made fortunes off of those who took extreme measures to have their alt modes forcibly changed. Only clutched mechs or mutantly strong sparks could force their bodies to compromise with half-and-half forms or even more than one alt mode.

Cassettes, thankfully, almost never had to worry about that, but Ravage would not have been at all surprised to learn, should he ever choose to confide in her as such, that Hound likely suffered a similar form of alt mode dysmorphia given his own somewhat mechanimalistic tendencies and inclinations. However, unlike other fetishists she had indulged in the past, he never once dismissed her intelligence and always continued to treat her as an equal mech despite her form. It was why she did not mind indulging him - it was likely less a fetish and more his spark crying out for something "comfortable". It was exceedingly rare for a non-cassette mech's spark to call to a primitive alt, but it did happen - the Predacons and Seacons were proof of that. It did no harm to his psyche nor Ravage's ego to let Hound play gridwolf in lieu of his alt mode becoming one.

Hound rumbled at her scent, and Ravage's panel snapped open with barely a second thought. He would have made a fine beastformer. The first probe of his tongue against the slick edges of her valve sent a jolt of heat and _need_ through Ravage's sensors. The next had her tail curl up and back over her hindquarters, and when Hound licked deeply and eagerly, Ravage's claws curled to knead furrows into the floor. Happy though she had been to simply lick herself to overload, it was good to _finally_ be touched by someone else. Astrotrain had _tried_ to reciprocate only to be largely unable to find her valve with his smallest cable without being able to _see_ her, so while Ravage had not been able to fault him _too_ badly, the experience had not been at all worth the humiliation. She rather doubted he would have been satisfying, anyway - not like Hound, who growled softly and sent subtle vibrations into her passage and turned her spinal struts into liquid heat.

His hands smoothed over the plating of her hindquarters and teased the connectors where her rocket launchers normally rested, and she answered his hungry rumble with one of her own. Ravage gave an impatient snap of her tail against Hound's helm and earned a corrective nip to its base, but he got the message: she was plenty relaxed now. Her vocalizer shifted to a deeper purr when she heard the _snikt_ of his panel opening followed by the metallic whisper of his spike unsheathing. Her back curved in an elegant arch as she lifted her front in time with Hound's retreat from her valve only for his familiar weight to brush against her back. Hound's engine rumbled against the plating just behind her shoulders for a brief klik before it shifted. Ravage's confusion was short-lived as Hound reached between them to feel for her link port and his own spark link cable fell against her plating. She was glad _one_ of them remembered that - she had certainly forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Black plating between Ravage's shoulders slid aside to allow her spark port to align with Hound's cable, who carefully clicked their cables into place. As warmth prickled from the port and seeped into her wiring and toward her spark, Ravage hoped she could count herself lucky - their sparks, Vector Sigma-spawned and split-formed, were largely incompatible, leaving Ravage's chances of clutching the lowest of all her fellow Decepticons. Had she chosen a fellow cassette, the chances would have been much higher.

Connection established and spark energy crackling through it, Hound's weight settled against her back, and Ravage purred again when she felt his spike line up with her valve only to growl when one green arm curled around her middle to keep her from pushing back against him. He returned her growl with one of his own right beside her audio sensor, but just when she was about to make a genuine protest against his stalling, Hound's growl deepened, he bit down on the back of her neck, and he snapped his hips forward, and Ravage was finally, gloriously _filled_. Charge erupted over Ravage's circuits, her vision clouded with static, and her vents _roared_ , her valve clamping down on the welcome intruder as the first thrust alone sent her over the edge in a rush of sensation.

When the static cleared and pure bliss washed over her systems, Ravage's vocalizer turned over in a loud, throaty purr which hitched with the rhythmic pitch forward and roll backward in time with the mech mounting her. Hound's jaws stayed clamped onto the back of her neck, rumbling his own pleasure into her plating. He stretched her perfectly, his spike just shy of hitting the aperture of her clutch chamber with each thrust. Ravage's optics dimmed so she could focus on the steady rhythm and the renewing charge crackling through her. Everything throbbed and ebbed in a rush of sensation, pleasure narrowing to two electric pinpoints behind her where he rocked against her and where his bite anchored her in place. She lifted one hind leg to barely paw at the floor, and he shifted his weight just enough to close that last gap. Hound hit the back of her valve with one sharp thrust, and her plating rattled as a second overload coursed through her. Ravage's spark port blazed with energy, her valve clenched desperately, and Hound drove into her with increasing fervor. He released the back of her neck only to bite down again in a different spot, and Ravage panted between pleased rumbles, the thin note of a whimper beginning to escape from her vocalizer. Hound's weight pressed down further against Ravage's back as he shifted once more to take her at a different angle, one black hand coming to rest on the floor next to her front paw for balance. Ravage lowered her front slightly to arch her back against him. 

As a week of need and desperation and still steadily growing heat threatened to overwhelm her, Hound _snarled_ and snapped forward one more time, and Ravage's optics blazed when she was finally, _finally_ filled. Liquid heat flooded inside her, claws tore furrows into the floor, thrashing, roaring, vents hitching with bursts of static and pure _relief_ and blazing white—

Ravage came back to herself slowly. She lay on her side, half-sunk into the padding of the berth she had been moved to in her incoherent, post-overload haze. Faint tremors still made her plating twitch only to be soothed by a gentle, black hand. Hound started at her jaw, gently rubbed his thumb behind her audio, then slowly, carefully smoothed down the plating of her neck, rubbed the dull ache where he bit and claimed her, over her shoulder, down her side, and came to rest at the base of her tail for a few nanokliks before his hand lifted away to start again. She stared at the wall past his shoulder and focused on the gentle touch as it eased her prickling, tender sensors. No words were spoken at first - none were needed. She purred, he rumbled, and they settled next to one another on the berth in sated quiet.

It was only after nearly a breem of petting and audio stroking that Ravage finally dared glance at her HUD, and her vents released a breath she had not noticed she was holding.

_"Thank Primus."_

Lying on his own side in front of her, Hound lifted his head from his arm, optics brightening from their lazy, dim glow. "It worked?" he chanced to ask, and she nodded.

 _"Yes - my core temp is the lowest it's been in a week, and it looks like it's still going down. It's over."_ The cassette reached out with all four limbs and bowed her back, claws flexing one at a time in a full body stretch that strained every cable until it protested, then she snapped into a curl and rolled onto her back with a contented sigh. Hound took the hint and moved his gentle stroking to her chest and abdomen, and Ravage's optics dimmed once more. They could share their success later. Right now, all Ravage wanted to do was enjoy the lack of need, the lack of desire, and finally _rest_.

—

_Thunk...thunk...thunk...thunk..._

Optimus Prime looked up slowly from his data pad and stared across the table where rhythmic thumping had been filling the room for the last breem. It was not as if he had not already expected it or known, but his spark still clenched in sympathy at the confirmation that dignity and self-control had flown out the window a very, very long time ago. Megatron, for his part, managed to sit upright and proud no matter how terrible he truly felt, though his utterly disheveled state and overly dull finish spoke volumes to his physical and mental state. To his right, a sour-faced Starscream had sprawled in his absolute best attempt to take up as much space as possible, wings flared, legs flung over the arm of his chair, one arm dangling over the side toward the floor, and even one foot propped up on the chair to his own right. He was unhappy and uncomfortable, and he was going to ensure everyone else knew it.

_Thunk...thunk...thunk..._

Seated in the chair Starscream used for a partial foot rest, Soundwave had discarded all manner of decorum and simply chose to voice his discontent by repeatedly lifting his helm and dropping his forehead against the surface of the table. For what it was worth, the display earned Soundwave all of Optimus' pity. Probably Megatron's too; Optimus doubted the Decepticon leader would have tolerated such a blatant lack of professionalism under any other circumstances.

For his part, Optimus was simply uncomfortable. The chair in which he was currently trapped was far too small for a mech of his shape and size, and every time he thought he was about to find some semblance of a comfortable position, it creaked in protest of his weight and wobbled, startling him out of his train of thought. It was usually Ratchet's seat - the medic claimed its inopportune twitches kept him fully aware during long, droning meetings. The remaining chairs, two of which were taken by Jazz and Prowl, were even smaller. As the largest Autobot to regularly sit for any period of time in the war room, Optimus had his own seat specially designed for his bulk with added cushioning to support his weight.

Unfortunately, it currently held an irate seeker who somehow managed to spread out even further when Optimus gave it a longing glance. Megatron and Soundwave, both larger than Starscream, had of course been given Ironhide and Blaster's chairs to compensate for their own size. Optimus' initial objections to Starscream usurping his chair (including pointing out that Ratchet's chair, while too small for Optimus, was more than adequate for Starscream) had been met with a flat, unimpressed glare. None of the expected shrieking or whining or any indication that Starscream was willing to fight him for it. Just...a silent, baleful glare that dared Optimus to forcibly remove him. A pleading glance to Megatron was met with the warlord's hands going up in a "don't look at me" gesture before he promptly turned his own chair around to put his back to both of them. That was when Soundwave had started banging his head on the table, and Optimus surrendered to the inevitable discomfort of the next few cycles.

At least Starscream was sitting on a towel. Optimus had questioned that initially only to be firmly rebuked with the comment, "Expecting me to not leak everywhere is like trying to find a specific dog barking in a kennel." The Prime was sorry he had said anything.

The Autobot leader lowered his gaze once more to the data pad before him and tuned out Soundwave's _thunk_ s of misery. The pad contained a lengthy list of the Decepticons' demands for the peace treaty, and across from him, Megatron read through the Autobots' own list. Starscream and Soundwave were supposed to be reading their own copies, but either they already had or, more likely, they had zero scraps to give about it.

On either side of him, Prowl and Jazz also perused the Decepticons' list. Everyone had agreed that they would wait to discuss the contents until all members present had finished reading from beginning to end. Thus far, Optimus saw little he objected to; in fact, many of the first items mirrored or were at least similar to items on the Autobots' own list, though he found himself wondering if he was being too lenient - Prowl had made numerous annotations in the past few breems. Then again, Jazz had not even touched his own stylus, so maybe Prowl was simply being Prowl.

Then _again_ , Optimus half suspected everyone in the room was taking longer than strictly necessary in order to stall the next inevitable step of talking to one another. He knew he was. The amount of sheer _awkward_ in the room was nearly tangible and had only gotten worse since Ratchet left with Drag Strip to perform repairs and the three remaining Decepticons on schedule left to be "cured" after announcing their matches. 

While Optimus still thought it was an invasion of privacy demanding the officer cadre know who was "treating" whom, he had to admit Prowl's argument had been sound. Knowing who was responsible for which Decepticon was the best way to ensure no Autobot abused the power he had been granted for the "procedure", though Optimus had put his foot down when Red Alert attempted to demand video surveillance to ensure no harm came to the Autobot as well. That sort of invasion of privacy was completely unnecessary; most of the officers, and even Megatron himself, doubted any Decepticon could think straight enough to put up a decent fight. No, there were no plans for mayhem for the foreseeable future, just a lot of activity Optimus truly did not want to know details about.

Now, if he could only concentrate on the data pad before him and stop imagining the writhing mass of shuttle cables that were likely filling Skyfire's quarters at that moment. At least Astrotrain had good taste in mechs, though Optimus supposed it was simply a preference for his own frame type. Unsurprisingly, Scrapper had chosen Hoist, and Drag Strip said his choice would be Sideswipe once he was cleared to leave the medbay. None of the named Autobots, though flustered, had objected, so for now, the "curing" process seemed to be running smoothly. Ravage had not been seen since her humiliating defrosting, but Soundwave assured Optimus that she had not only made her choice and was in the process of securing him but that he and the Autobot approved. As no one had approached the officers to complain of amorous advances by a feline cassette, Prowl decided there was little point in dwelling on the subject. 

Overall, Optimus thought things were off to a promising start. While many Autobots had taken exception to the announcement at first, with many crying that this was a trap at best, their protests died the nanoklik the first Decepticons arrived and they saw for themselves their enemies' pitiful state. The three officers had clearly _tried_ to better their appearance to salvage their own pride, but the polishing they had given one another had been half-sparked at best. There were still streaks of unbuffed polish along Soundwave's back and Starscream's wings, Megatron had not bothered at all with his legs from the knees down, and at this point, no amount of polish could hide the lubricant stains on the plating of their inner thighs. It would take a full repaint to finally rid themselves of that humiliation.

Of course, with the acceptance of the foreseeable future came a different sort of commotion. Optimus had been appalled when he stepped into the rec room and saw Smokescreen's betting chart and the swath of mechs making wagers on which Decepticon would pick which Autobot. The chart, to the best of his knowledge, was being kept highly secret from the Decepticons so as to not risk their influencing the odds. He _supposed_ it was an improvement over anger and suspicion, but Optimus still felt it was taking advantage of the situation.

So, after making Smokescreen promise that the spoils for each wager would be split evenly with the Decepticon upon whom the bet had been placed, Optimus put himself down for four cubes that Starscream would pick Skyfire.

The door to the war room opened to allow Ratchet inside, who immediately went to the three silent Decepticons. His intrusion - right on schedule, Optimus realized with a glance to his chronometer - finally broke the awkward silence as he set down three large cubes of coolant in front of the miserable mechs and proceeded to scan them for signs of dangerous overheating. Soundwave stopped thumping his head on the table, though he only moved so far as to shift the position of his head to rest his chin on the table instead, crimson visor dull and listless as he stared at his coolant as if he could will it into his systems rather than sit up. All of Optimus' pity points - Soundwave had them.

"A lot of these points rely on being able to establish contact with Cybertron," Prowl spoke. "Blaster is working on establishing contact with Ultra Magnus to let him know what is happening and of the ceasefire, but even though Shockwave is currently silent, he and his tower are still jamming Autobot communications. We _must_ find a way to contact him to take down the jamming frequency and ensure the Cybertron-bound Decepticons are also aware of the ceasefire." Prowl lifted his gaze from the data pad to look across the table. "When was the last time you heard from him?"

Starscream frowned as he thought backwards a nanoklik, then answered, "About a month ago; right after we—" His optics brightened, wings twitching upwards sharply. "Uh oh."

"'Uh oh'?" Optimus repeated. "Is that Shockwave-related or just another bark in the kennel?"

However, Megatron and Soundwave seemed to have caught onto Starscream's same stray thought as both visor and optics brightened in epiphany. "Well..." Megatron drawled, and Soundwave clapped a hand over his visor in frustrated embarrassment. "That explains the silence." Megatron mirrored Soundwave's gesture and grumbled as he scrubbed his hand wearily down his face. "The last time we had direct contact with Shockwave, we sent him the thermal collector's schematics to analyze and modify for possible off-world applications."

All three Decepticons looked literally anywhere but directly across the table where three Autobots could now only stare at them in a combination of disbelief, frustration, and pity. Even Ratchet paused in his assessment to stare at them in dawning horror.

"The schematic," Prowl repeated, his tone the blandest Optimus had ever heard from his Second. "The schematic with the virus."

Starscream snapped, "We didn't know it _had_ a virus at the time!"

"And once you _did_ know about the virus - nearly a _week_ ago at this point, I might add - you didn't think that _might_ have explained the lack of communication before now?" Prowl pressed.

" _Prowl_!" Ratchet hissed, but his rebuke was too late. Despite the ungainly sprawl he had been in a nanoklik previously, Starscream was on his feet in an instant, the chair clattering noisily to the floor behind him.

"I'd like to see _you_ try to string more than two thoughts together without difficulty after you've been subjected to _this_ for nearly _two frelling weeks_!" the seeker screeched, and even Megatron and Soundwave seemed to agree with him if the baleful glares they now leveled at Prowl were any indication. Prowl opened his mouth to retort, but Starscream continued, his voice growing more shrill and optics glowing brighter and more distressed with each shriek. "You have _no idea_ what we're going through! You have _no idea_ how _hard_ it is to think of _anything_ but how _hot_ I am, how _desperate_ I am, how much every circuit and wire and bolt in my _entire body **hurts**_ with _every_ movement! Drag Strip nearly _died_ , my _spike_ has been _cut off_ , and we've been forced to surrender our pride, our dignity, our _entire Cause_ in the hopes that we can be cured! _Slag_ you and your condescension for our processors being otherwise _occupied_!"

Ratchet scrambled backwards a step to avoid being struck by a wing as Starscream whirled to storm out the door, and an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Optimus stared at the door for a nanoklik before he slowly turned his head to his right and joined both Decepticons and Autobots in the room in leveling a reprimanding glare at Prowl who, thankfully, had the courtesy to appear cowed by Starscream's outburst.

"Well, _this_ is off to a _great_ start," Jazz muttered.

"You _will_ apologize to him once he's calmed down," Optimus chided.

"Yes, sir. And I extend that apology to Megatron and Soundwave." Prowl forced himself to look to the two glaring mechs across from him. "Starscream is correct - I do not have the experience required to fully understand your situation beyond verbal explanation." Megatron grunted, but the glare turned slightly less hateful, so Optimus counted it as progress.

"Soundwave: will assist Blaster in bypassing jamming frequency."

"Yes, it is probably best that we establish contact with Cybertron as soon as possible to make the ceasefire official on all sides; then, we can focus on negotiations without fear of unforeseen happenings on Cybertron." Prowl glanced between the other mechs present before looking back to Soundwave. "Shall we reconvene in a cycle to give you a chance to commune with Blaster?" When no one objected, Soundwave grudgingly grabbed his cube of coolant and forced himself to stand, and he left without another word to make his way to the communications hub. Ratchet fled immediately after him, leaving just one Decepticon remaining among three Autobots.

Glances were exchanged across the table, blue optics and visor meeting red in an impromptu waiting game to see who broke under the uncomfortable silence and left first. Prowl had already refocused his attention on his data pad, and Jazz was staring longingly at the door in the hope that he would be dismissed. That left just Optimus and Megatron in the most awkward stare-down the Autobot leader had ever had with his (former?) enemy. Or did it even count as a stare-down? One blue optic darkened slightly in confusion as Optimus realized that, while Megatron was looking in his general direction, the silver mech was clearly not actually _seeing_ him. Elbows resting on the table and face partially hidden behind his folded hands, Megatron's crimson gaze was distant, almost glazed over. The Prime's hand twitched as he contemplated raising it to wave in Megatron's line of sight.

Just before he gave in to the temptation, Optimus' vents froze as the silence of the room was broken by the loudest _snikt_ he had ever heard followed by every one of Megatron's own vents erupting in a single, abrupt _whoosh_. Jolted from what had _clearly_ been one Pit of a wet daydream - not to mention being undeniably caught _having_ it - Megatron's optics blanched a mortified white at the edges, and in the span of a single klik, he grabbed his cube of coolant, downed the entire thing in one long gulp, slammed the empty container back down onto the table, and bolted from the room without a word.

The chair was still spinning when the door closed behind him. Three Autobots stared at it until it stopped, choking on the awkward silence until Optimus finally dared to shut off his optics and let out a single, quiet whine.

"I feel like I need a shower now..."

—

In hindsight, he probably should have at least brought the coolant with him. Not that Starscream expected it to do much, but at least then he would have had some sort of _internal_ cooling rather than trying to rely on external sources of relief. Unfortunately, he had been too angry and upset to think that far ahead, wanting only to put as much distance as possible between himself and the Autobots' self-righteous tactician. How _dare_ he! Yes, Starscream realized _now_ that the reason for Shockwave's silence should have been obvious, but he had been rather _busy_ either trying to frag himself on every surface or being castrated, and it was not as if he was the _only_ one who had overlooked such a simple explanation. So, how _dare_ Prowl try to make _Starscream_ feel stupid! Let _him_ try it!

The snow had melted again, and once more, Starscream discovered he was sitting in a steaming puddle of water that was a few degrees away from boiling. Had he not known better, he would have blamed his temper. Sighing in frustration, he stood and trudged through the blanket of white to the next snowbank which looked deep enough for him, leaving behind his fifth crater. His frame was running so hot, the snow could only withstand a few kliks of his sitting in it. Even his legs created clouds of fog as he waded through the thick covering. It was fortunate that the blizzard from several orns ago had been as large as it was; it left behind a rather absurdly thick layer of snow and ice, far too deep for humans to traverse safely but just deep enough to be useful for a mech Starscream's size. At least for a few kliks at a time, anyway. New snow slowly drifted from the sky with barely a breeze to disturb it. Maybe it would repair the damage he had done to the landscape before he could return.

Starscream _flomp_ ed down aft first into the next snowbank to an explosion of steam and, taking advantage of his solitude, allowed himself a long, pitiful noise of frustration. Starscream liked interfacing as much as the next mech, but this was ridiculous. His last heat cycle, long before the war, had been bad enough, and it had only lasted a few orns. Need clawed at his circuits, heat burned his wiring and fuel lines, and his valve constantly clenched and flexed to remind him it was oh, so painfully _empty_. The phantom twitching sensations of his spike had ceased only a few orns after its painful removal, likely because his valve was such a thorough distraction.

The seeker whimpered again, barely noticing as one hand rubbed at his overheated panel. It snapped open at the barest touch, and Starscream's whimper turned into a startled squeak as melted snow rushed just inside his valve. It felt no stranger than the ocean water and, thus, was quickly ignored in favor of plunging two claws as deeply as he could. Not that it would provide much relief, but he had little control over his actions anymore, especially in solitude. Just as he had little control over his own future anymore.

Lust dulled just slightly under a growing cloud of resentment and other emotions he dared not name. He knew what was coming. Estranged though he had been from Vos and his fellow seekers thanks to his desire to further his education and explore the cosmos, Starscream still knew the way his body functioned, if only because he had been forced to take a lecture course on interfacing habits his first semester in the Academy. His "advisor"'s reasoning had been so Starscream could avoid - how did that pompous aft put it - "the hazards of giving in to standard seeker whims" and how "the Academy does not wish to be embarrassed by any scandals caused by an unwanted clutch."

Rusted. Skidplate. As if it was _his_ fault his body was wired with an overclocked reproductive system. As if he could _control_ it. But if they wanted to be shapist rust stains, fine. Starscream had wanted his education enough to look past the prejudice and took the stupid, insulting course which had only told him what he already knew.

Seekers and shuttles had inordinately strong sparks as a general rule due to Cybertron's gravity, which was stronger than Earth's. They _needed_ the extra power in order to break free for flight, shuttles especially in order to break the planet's gravitational pull entirely for interstellar travel and then power their bodies _during_ interstellar travel. Unfortunately, the stronger the carrier's spark, the more likely the carrier was to clutch. Spontaneous spark ignition from the nanites alone was a little more common with a flight-gifted mech than a grounder to begin with, unless the receiving mech either had a spark patch or quickly purged his partner's nanites afterward. But combined with another mech's spark energy through an uplink?

Starscream had never wanted to clutch. Before the war, he had always been more focused on building his future, and caring for a clutch did not factor into the plans he had devised for himself - a long career exploring off-world, searching for new sources of energon, studying alien life, and maybe one orn settling down on Cybertron once more to teach at the Academy. Only then, _maybe_ , would he have considered a clutch with the right mech - after all, genius such as his _should_ be passed down to the next generation, though he had always envisioned himself siring rather than carrying. Of course, then the war happened, and even that far-fetched "maybe" scenario fled from his processors in lieu of commanding an armada, researching weaponry rather than alien life, and simply surviving.

Now, the war was finally going to end, and Starscream's internal promise of "maybe some orn with the right mech after a long and glorious career" had become "whether he was ready or not" - not even a chamber purge after the virus had been removed would prevent the inevitable. By the time he was able to initiate the purge, the spark or sparks would have already ignited, and removing the nanite-rich transmetal would only stunt the clutch's early development. Just because he had not _wanted_ to clutch did not mean he wanted his impending clutch deformed or, at worst, _dead_. So, whether he liked it or not, Starscream resigned himself to his foreseeable future. Maybe he would take the Autobots up on their offer to leave the clutch in their care - he had time to think about his options.

Starscream scowled down at the snow. That thought only brought to mind his more immediate problem. Regardless of his unreadiness to carry, he _did_ want the impending clutch to have the best chances he could give it. The problem was no one, as far as Starscream was concerned, was _worthy_ of taking him. The mere thought of _any_ dirt-licking Autobot mounting him made Starscream's plating crawl, and the very few flight-capable Autobots were somehow even _more_ unappealing. He and Skyfire had too much history, not to mention the fact that Skyfire would probably rip him in _half_ ; the Aerialbots were all boisterous, immature, or simply idiotic; Blades was a rotor mech which was just another way of saying he only pretended he was flight-gifted; Powerglide was a mouth with wings; Cosmos was tiny and rotund, and Starscream was not even sure what he he was classified as under the Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy anyway; Tracks was an abomination; Swoop...no. Just... _no_.

That left _only_ grounders, the vast majority of whom were ugly, mouthy, or otherwise unappealing on any number of other levels. Starscream could count on one hand the number of Autobots he could picture over him without feeling sick, and that was just aesthetics. The larger barrier to work through eliminated even those few, as well as nearly every Decepticon the seeker could name: trust. Starscream had never gone to berth with a single mech he had not trusted on some level, which was simply another way to say his list of past partners was very, _very_ short. The farthest he was usually willing to go was heavy petting, toys, maybe oral on occasion - rarely beyond that. It was not as if he thought interfacing was something "special" or to be "treasured" the way a more saccharine mech might have thought; no, Starscream simply despised feeling vulnerable in any way, and mid-interface was the most vulnerable a mech could be short of outright unconsciousness. Even during the last nearly two weeks of torture, he had not joined his fellow Decepticons in their mutual desperation. To let down his guard with another mech long enough to interface was to allow his enemies the opening they needed to oust him. Starscream had a _lot_ of enemies. It came with the job. And that was all _before_ adding in the additional complication of spark energy.

At least they could _use_ the uplink rather than going bare spark-to-spark. During the war, when procreation had been the _last_ thing on anyone's mind, the port had usually been reserved for medical use, giving medics access to in-depth scans of the spark during the rare occasion when it was impossible to open an injured mech's chest without causing further damage. The matching cable, kept coiled around the port, was used even more rarely than the port itself, and both components were - so far as Starscream knew - the only single-use cord and port in a Cybertronian body. They provided non-invasive access to a mech's spark energy - that was all. Useful for medics and couples who simply did not want to be fully exposed, but not much else.

Well, and mutated viruses, he supposed.

With all that in mind, Starscream truly could not think of a single mech with whom he could let down his guard long enough to be cured, neither that nor a mech with whom he could stand thinking of siring his inevitable offspring. Of course, realistically, he knew he was going to have to make a decision soon no matter his feelings on the subject, but for now, the mere thought made him shudder with revulsion. Or maybe that was melted snow filling his valve as he pumped his claws into it with increasing fervor. Or both. Probably both.

White exploded around him as a massive amount of snow suddenly dropped on top of him. Startled, Starscream squawked and flailed and kicked at the snow only for another pile to join the first, weighing him down in his puddle of melt. He panicked at first, afraid it was an avalanche from the side of the volcano. While not fatal to a mech of his size, an avalanche had enough power to do significant damage to his wings. The fear was short-lived, though, as Starscream realized the snow fell in increments. An avalanche would have dumped a mountainside of snow in one fell swoop - this was several large piles dropped atop one another in succession.

Starscream ceased struggling after the third and simply sat buried for a long klik. The piling stopped at the fourth, and the seeker stared at the inside of his new, frosty cocoon, listening. Large footsteps crunched the snow around him, and at first, Starscream wondered how he could have possibly missed someone so large approaching him, distracted though his thoughts had been. However, he decided it ultimately did not matter. Being buried in the snow...actually felt _really_ good, so the protest he had considered died before it ever had a chance to fully form in his vocalizer. Instead, he sat and listened.

Those _were_ large footfalls; he found himself drawn to the sound and wondered who had joined him. There were not many Autobots that large; however, despite the mech's size, his actual footsteps were surprisingly light, and Starscream realized he may not have heard him easily at all if he had not been listening. No wonder he had not heard the other mech approach - it just went to show him how distracted this virus was keeping him. Who among the Autobots was that large yet still light on his feet? Probably the Prime, he thought. The sanctimonious cog had probably taken it upon himself to come "check on" the seeker after his outburst.

Then again, it was not exactly Optimus Prime's nature to callously dump snow atop another mech. Maybe. Starscream honestly could not say for certain one way or the other, but it did not _seem_ like the Prime's style. That seemed more in line with the medic's rather prickly sense of humor. He was of a size as well, though the crunching snow sounded like it was being crushed under larger feet than Ratchet's.

Skyfire was out of the question - Starscream knew for a fact that the shuttle was _busy_ with one of his own kind, and even if he were not otherwise occupied, Skyfire held an understandably visceral aversion to snow and ice. Ever since the massive mech's unearthing from the Arctic, Soundwave's spy network had reported that Skyfire all but went into hibernation this time of year. He simply _did not leave_ the _Ark_ in winter. Period. No one in the galaxy _nope_ d away from frozen water harder than Skyfire.

The cocoon of snow melted steadily, leaving Starscream soaking in his very full crater of water. He glimpsed movement through the rapidly thinning sheet of snow in front of his optics, and when it finally lost the battle against gravity and broke away from his face, crimson optics met large blue. Starscream blinked in surprise. Powerful legs shifted just slightly to more fully face the seeker, claws buried deep in the thick white, and Starscream had just enough time to fully process who stood in front of him before those fang-filled jaws scooped up another large mouthful of snow and, with a flick of his massive head, dumped it on top of the prone mech once again.

At a loss for how to take all of this but unable to deny that being encased in the snow _did_ feel good against his overheated plating, Starscream could only give a muffled mutter of, "...thank you."

Grimlock chuckled, and the ground jolted as the Dinobot _flomp_ ed into the snow to make himself comfortable. The snow covering the seeker melted faster this time, no longer four layers thick as well as having been dumped atop an already steaming pool of water. When a window opened in the frost again, Starscream looked out at his unexpected company and frowned.

Grimlock largely ignored him now, instead focused on shuffling in the snow a few paces away. He was still in his alt mode, belly flat to the ground as he pushed himself along through the thick white with his massive legs. The momentum rolled snow up onto his head, which the Dinobot then jerked upward to fling the snow onto his back. The movement worked better than Starscream would have expected, clearly well-practiced, and by the time Starscream's snow had completely melted, Grimlock had an adequate covering of his own, blue optics dim with contentment.

This was actually the first time Starscream had been so close to the Dinobot without fearing for his wings. Normally, when Grimlock was unleashed on the battlefield, the seeker stayed high in the air, well away from those lethal fangs. He had seen the kind of damage Grimlock could do with fang and claw and brute strength - Mixmaster, Scrapper, Swindle, Wildrider, and Breakdown all had permanent welding scars thanks to Grimlock. Brawl only escaped permanent damage by virtue of his much thicker combat-grade plating - Swindle was not nearly so lucky.

The Dinobot had learned long ago that the weakest point of any Decepticon team in its combined form were the mechs who became the legs. Devastator, Bruticus, and Menasor were not a threat without legs to support them. Snarl and Sludge simply ran around the battlefield to be tripping hazards; Swoop tended to be preoccupied with aiding the Aerialbots against the seekers; Slag's strategy was to wait for the teams to uncombine then charge and burn his way through them. Grimlock, however, was the Dinobot who brought down the combiners for the others, and he did it with brutal efficiency.

It was very strange to watch the lethal mech now, a few paces away and happily attempting to bury his bulk in the snow. No Decepticon was quite sure what to think of the Dinobots, Starscream included. They were dangerous, deadly mechs who behaved like simple-minded beasts, but without warning, something in them could change as if with the wind, and they were suddenly cunning predators capable of taking out entire combiner teams with near-surgical precision. The fact that no one understood just how they came to be only made them that much more unnerving. Did they even have sparks? If so, how did Wheeljack and Ratchet acquire them? Vector Sigma had been dormant until after the Dinobots appeared on Earth. And there was no way they had been clutched - not with _those_ alt modes.

Whatever their true nature, Starscream had always been wary of their leader. He was not the largest or fastest of the five, but he was certainly the deadliest, especially as the years went by and his frame changed.

Starscream remembered the Dinobots' first frames - they were large and clumsy with stiff, tree-like legs and tails which dragged along the ground, and Grimlock's head had resembled a duck's more than a _Tyrannosaurus_ '. Then, as human paleontologists' science progressed, so too did Wheeljack and Ratchet's understanding of their creations' bodies, and the Dinobots had received numerous upgrades over the years to match, making already lethal mechs even faster and deadlier. Sludge and Snarl's tails, stubby things once more tripping hazards than anything else, became deadly whips, Snarl's as efficient as any spiked flail and Sludge's capable of snapping across the battlefield to sweep away Decepticons or knock down combiners. Swoop's speed and agility in the air increased with his knowledge of how his alt mode's inspiration flew; Slag was now a flaming battering ram who could outrun all but the fastest Cybertronian on the ground.

Grimlock's shift was the most jarring, from his flat muzzle's transformation to a boxy, fang-filled maw, to his powerful, taloned feet, to his massive, flexible tail. Starscream had actually once questioned whether or not Wheeljack had decided to throw scientific accuracy out the airlock when it came to his creation in favor of simply redesigning the mech to make every last body part an instrument of destruction. Then the seeker read the most recent scientific findings on Grimlock's long-extinct inspiration, and now Starscream was uncertain whether he should have been relieved that Wheeljack's imagination was not _actually_ that sadistic or scared that Earth's evolution was that _insane_. For the most part, he went with both.

One large, bright blue optic stared at him through the blanket of white, jolting Starscream out of his thoughts, and he forcibly looked away. "What?" he asked to break the uncomfortable silence. "Did Prime send you out here to 'check' on me? Or Red Alert, maybe? To make sure I wasn't up to anything?"

The mound of snow shifted, powder sliding down to the ground as Grimlock lifted his head enough to grunt, "No. Grimlock like snow." Ugh - and there was why Starscream could not take the Dinobots seriously despite their lethality. All the upgrades and remodels they had been granted over the last few decades, and they still could not talk like normal mechs. "Grimlock like snow, so Grimlock come enjoy snow," the Dinobot continued, either oblivious to or ignoring Starscream's glare to the side. "See you Starscream getting too hot - Grimlock help."

"Hn. Well, I...appreciate it." Though annoyed he was expressing his gratitude to a _Dinobot_ , the words did not taste as bad as he thought they would, possibly because it _had_ helped a little. Unfortunately, the snow had only helped with the heat - it did absolutely nothing for the _need_. Only now did Starscream realize his fingers were still buried deep in his valve. And Grimlock was still looking right at him. The seeker thought maybe he was hidden enough by the steaming water in his little snow crater, but that was too big a "maybe" to ease his embarrassment.

His plating gave a slight shiver that had absolutely nothing to do with the snow. Now that Starscream was once again aware of his fingers, he could not bring himself to pull them free. They did not fill him in the way he desperately wished to be filled, but it was still better than the alternative of utter _emptiness_. His valve rippled around his claws, and he just barely bit back a whimper, unable to stop himself from pumping them a few times.

Frustrated and humiliated, Starscream tried to think of something else - _anything_ else. His gaze drifted over the white landscape only to come to a rest on the half-buried Dinobot once more. He wished Grimlock would go away - it was distracting seeing a mech so _massive_ that close to him. Sure, there were large mechs among the Decepticons - truthfully, depending on one's perspective, the Decepticons sort of had the monopoly on large mechs, especially if one counted the combiner teams separately as well as the mech they formed. Astrotrain and Blitzwing, by virtue of their status as triplechangers, dwarfed all but Megatron himself, and then after Megatron were Blast Off, Motormaster, Onslaught, and Long Haul. In contrast, of the primarily Earth-based Autobots, only Skyfire outmassed the Dinobots. Even among the Dinobots, Grimlock was only second largest, outmassed by a wide margin by Sludge.

When Starscream reflected on the other mech that way, he wondered why he felt so dwarfed. Grimlock was actually nearer to the middle of the scale when compared to the entire list of Earth-based mechs, Starscream realized; still leaning more heavily toward the "large" side of the scale and still, of course, much larger than Starscream himself, but he was not _that_ intimidating in terms of sheer size. So, why was Starscream fixated on it?

Starscream frowned when his observations pointed to something odd: Grimlock was no longer looking at him. If he had not been sent by the Prime or Prowl to keep an eye on Starscream, he could have gone to another area after burying the seeker, so the real question was why Grimlock was still there.

On his way both to the war room and back outside, all the Autobots Starscream passed had either refused to meet his gaze, looked upon him with unmistakable pity, or avoided looking at him and the other two Decepticons entirely out of potent second-hand embarrassment. A select few, of whom Starscream cared not to remember the designations, had cast suggestive leers toward him, particularly on his way back outside when he was alone. The seeker was not afraid of them - they knew the consequences of trying anything and, in all likelihood, had only been trying to goad a reaction out of him. Though, if it continued, Starscream would at least mention it to the Prime - particularly loathsome individuals could, and would, take silence as a dare, if not an invitation. He knew.

Still, Grimlock was pointedly _not_ looking at him. The only visible optic's glow was dulled in contentment, its gaze distant and unfocused, and he sat under the snow in perfect silence. Had it not been for his mass - he may not have been the largest mech on Earth by any stretch, but there was no denying that Grimlock was truly massive - and the lethality Starscream knew he was capable of, the Dinobot's presence would have been entirely non-threatening.

Another rush of heat distracted him from his thoughts, and before he could think better of it, Starscream plunged his claws deeper into his valve, and the only thing that stopped the seeker from rocking into his hand was the knowledge that it would draw Grimlock's attention back to him. That thought made his attention drift, and Starscream found himself trying to envision a red visor just barely visible through the snow instead of the dinosaur's blue optic, tried to imagine what the mound might look like if it were hiding the mech and not the beast. Why _was_ Grimlock still just _sitting_ there? Did he know what Starscream's hand was busy doing? Could he smell the seeker through the melt? How sensitive _was_ the Dinobot's olfactory suite? Starscream had often wondered that - he had seen Grimlock track fleeing Decepticons by their scent, and the seeker wondered if his ability was as powerful as Hound's legendary senses. If so, _could_ he scent Starscream as the seeker tried desperately to reach his innermost nodes? If he could, he was doing a remarkably convincing job of pretending otherwise.

Starscream's gaze drifted over the mound of snow, and he once again tried to imagine the mech instead of the dinosaur hiding underneath. Slag, he was big. He knew Grimlock's alt mode was overall larger than his root mode, but he also knew the Dinobot's root mode was no slouch when it came to size either. And, unlike many oversized mechs, his frame was proportionate - many large mechs had overly large shoulders and arms paired with smaller heads or hands than strictly looked "right" for the rest of their frames, but Grimlock had been designed properly. That was probably Wheeljack's perfectionism showing; overzealous the engineer may have been, but when he set his mind to a task, he did it _right_. Starscream bet that attention to detail was thorough - he bet, underneath the snow and underneath the protective plating, every part of Grimlock's design was proportionate, even down to—

Oh, slag.

Heat erupted through the seeker as his imagination went rampant before he could stop it. Grimlock probably _was_ sized to match his frame, which meant his spike could only come in one size: _huge_. Starscream pictured Grimlock sitting back in the snow, powerful thighs parted for an unobstructed view of his red pelvic plating, and his spike jutting proudly into the air. Could the average mech even _fit_ a spike that large inside himself? It was probably as big as Starscream's forearm. No - _surely_ Wheeljack was not that sadistic. Or perverted. Or maybe he was.

Actually, now that Starscream thought about Wheeljack's attention to detail when it came to Grimlock's updated design over the years, what if the engineer's desire for authenticity did not stop at just Grimlock's alt mode? Was his spike even modeled after a normal mech's? What did a _Tyrannosaurus_ ' spike even _look_ like?

The melted snow was just a few degrees away from boiling now, but Starscream did not notice. He could not see any of his surroundings anymore, crimson optics bright and staring ahead at the image his processors supplied him. If it _was_ modeled after the beast's instead of the mech's, maybe Grimlock's spike was shorter than would be proportionate for the mech - shorter but probably thicker. Was it ridged? Oddly shaped? Starscream wondered if it looked like other, similar reptiles' spikes. Oh, Primus - did he have _two_ like a snake?! Wait - no...dinosaurs evolved into birds. What did a bird's look like? The seeker's study of Earthen zoology was thorough, and he knew he should know this, but thinking was suddenly difficult. All he could do was rock his hips into his claws and wish instead he was being filled by—

A flash of blue froze him where he sat, and his claws stilled as if he had been paralyzed.

Grimlock had lifted his head and now stared pointedly at the seeker, blue optics bright and _knowing_. He knew what Starscream was doing - he probably knew what Starscream was _thinking_ , that the seeker was thinking about _him_.

And Starscream could scarcely find the will to be ashamed of himself.

So _that_ was what an uncomfortable _Tyrannosaurus_ looked like. Massive claws dug into the ground as powerful legs pushed Grimlock's heavy frame up to stand, and he took one step before—

"Wait!" Starscream's lines ran simultaneously hot from the virus and cold from humiliation as the word blurted from his vocalizer and Grimlock froze. The seeker's optics finally cast downward to the steaming water in shame, no longer able to look at the other mech. It was not fair that Starscream was forced to wait so long for an end to this insanity, but Primus - was he truly this desperate? Was he truly so pathetic as to beg for relief from the first capable mech with whom he found himself alone? Even one with a frelling _beast mode_?

Apparently.

"Please," the seeker whimpered. "I can't think - it _hurts_ \- I _need_ —!"

"Him Prime say you Starscream have to wait," Grimlock rumbled, and though Starscream could not lift his gaze from the ground to check, he somehow knew the Dinobot was not looking at him either. "Talk just started. Starscream must wait longer." 

"H-How am I supposed to negotiate when I _can't think_ beyond...beyond _this_?!" Starscream demanded, though there was little strength behind his voice, the words coming out in a shaky murmur. He could no longer stop himself from pumping his claws into his valve, his thumb rubbing desperately against the over-sensitive node between his valve and empty spike housing. No matter what he did, it was not enough - between the water and copious lubricant, his valve was too slippery for his fingers to generate enough friction, he could not reach any deeper, and his node was nearly painful to the touch yet still did not generate enough charge to provide release by itself. He could _feel_ the other mech's gaze on him now, and Starscream's vents hitched miserably in hopeless humiliation.

The world lurched - so focused Starscream had been on his hand and valve, he had not noticed the ground shaking with Grimlock's approach. Snow and water and fangs filled his vision as something dug underneath him and lifted him into the air. The seeker squawked in alarm and jerked his hand out from between his legs so he could flail for purchase to keep from falling. His arms wrapped around a solid presence at his front, claws scraping to secure himself, and once he was satisfied he was not going to fall, Starscream reset his optics to clear the haze of static.

He hung in the air, supported from the waist down by a gaping maw. Water sluiced between impossibly sharp fangs which formed a surprisingly careful cradle around him. A few settled against his back and wings but did barely more than scratch his plating. The matching upper fangs framed him and barely rested against him despite the way Starscream clung to and squeezed the Dinobot's snout for balance. Grimlock had his head tilted back enough to keep gravity from forcing his teeth to press hard enough to damage the seeker's plating.

Starscream registered his position and what had happened in a few alarmed glances before he moved his gaze around the curve of Grimlock's snout to meet one of the Dinobot's own blue, over-bright optics.

The broad surface of Grimlock's tongue brushed slowly and meaningfully over Starscream's exposed valve. The tapered tip flicked just past the rim.

"Tell. Me. To stop," Grimlock snarled. His words quaked through every last circuit and wire in the seeker's body. Somehow, Starscream knew he _would_ stop if told.

He lifted one leg to hook his thruster over Grimlock's snout, opening his valve further.

" _No_."

The Dinobot's tongue laved Starscream's dripping opening, slowly at first, drawing a needy whimper from the seeker, but just when Starscream rocked his hips to encourage more, Grimlock plunged the tip of his tongue into him, and Starscream threw back his head and _screamed_.

 _Primus_ , but it felt _glorious_ to be filled by something other than his own claws or some cold, inanimate _toy_. Grimlock's tongue was no spike and was still just a temporary relief, but at the moment, Starscream did not care. It _stretched_ him and reached deeper than Starscream's claws could, the tapered tip stroking over nodes which had been neglected the last few weeks. Grimlock lapped at the seeker's fluids, cleaning him of the copious lubricant to generate wonderful friction over the heated inner lining. He pulled back to press against the sensitive exterior node and _growled_ , and Starscream cried out again as the noise made the other mech's tongue vibrate against him.

His claws scratched at Grimlock's snout as he writhed in the Dinobot's jaws. Starscream's spark thrilled with the danger those fangs presented - at any klik, Grimlock could close his jaws, and Starscream had no doubt they were powerful enough to bite him in half, and Starscream would be helpless to prevent it. But Grimlock simply cradled him, shifting his stance and the angle of his head with Starscream's writhing to keep Starscream from hurting himself on his fangs as best he could. His vocalizer's constant rumble buzzed his fangs over the surface of Starscream's wings, and his tongue once again plunged into the seeker's depths. On some level, Starscream was mortified at the amount of fluids he knew he must have been coating Grimlock's tongue and flowing down the Dinobot's intake, but more than the embarrassment was the relief and the overwhelming sensation of how _good_ it felt, and he knew it couldn't last - wouldn't last. His world narrowed to a pinpoint between his thighs, the slick thrust of the other mech's movements, the buzzing fangs against his back, growling, licking, snarling, begging, oh, Primus, _please_ —

Static slowly began to fade as sensation returned to Starscream's extremities. The world shifted again, and snow hissed against his back as he was carefully lowered to it. His arms and legs were heavy; he had no strength to continue clinging to Grimlock's snout. The Dinobot deposited him onto the cold ground, and Starscream's hands fell limply to the snow.

The sound of a transformation sequence sent a sharp jolt of need from Starscream's spark straight to his throbbing valve. He did not bother to fight back a needy moan and tried to find the energy to part his thighs further. He was equal parts afraid and intrigued to see the answer to his questions earlier - how large _was_ Grimlock's spike? Was it different from a normal mech's? A mix of nervousness and exhaustion kept him from looking away from the sky to see for himself. All he could do was force his legs apart to try to make room for the massive mech's bulk, vents hitching in anticipation.

Another moan tore free of his vocalizer when he felt a large hand move between his thighs, and Starscream's optics flickered offline as he rocked his hips upward to meet the other mech's fingers. One large claw hooked into the seam of the seeker's panel—

_Click._

Starscream's optics flared online again.

Wait — what?

Did Grimlock just _close_ him?

His head shot up to look at the other mech in alarm only to be met with a red visor watching him, glinting in what was unmistakably a mouthless grin.

"That should help you Starscream think for a while now," Grimlock grunted and pushed himself to his feet.

"Wha— You—!" Starscream stammered and pushed himself upright, and, to his shock, the Dinobot had turned to leave. " _Get back here_! How dare you leave this unfinished! How dare you leave _me_ unfinished!"

"Him Prime say you Starscream next-to-last," Grimlock countered with a cheeky wave over his shoulder. "Starscream still want Grimlock then, Starscream come find Grimlock then." Starscream shrieked at Grimlock's back and began to extricate himself from the snow only for his irate shriek to cut off into a startled squawk at an explosion of white in his face when Grimlock spun around and threw a miniature avalanche of snow on top of him.

By the time Starscream managed to kick and flail and swear his way back out of the snow and steam, Grimlock was gone.


End file.
